


E.Nigma Investigations - Season premiere (Season 1)

by Gh0stWriter, zorasublime (Dr_Skeletons)



Series: E.Nigma Investigations - Season 1 [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - Fandom, DC Elseworlds
Genre: Detective Edward Nygma, Detective Noir, Gen, Mystery, tw:alcohol, tw:ptsd, tw:smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gh0stWriter/pseuds/Gh0stWriter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Skeletons/pseuds/zorasublime
Summary: *Characters in story won't be tagged because of spoilers*Edward Nigma is pretty down on his luck. His detective business isn’t a success, and he is finding it more and more difficult trying to deal with the memories of what happened a few months ago. However, this morning he receives a phone call, and it is one that leads him down a trail of confusing clues.
Series: E.Nigma Investigations - Season 1 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089986
Comments: 18
Kudos: 30





	1. Episode 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'd like to add a few notes here at the beginning, just some things to keep in mind while reading:  
> We are not going to be tagging all the characters that are in Seasons or episodes. We are methodically planning out this story, and adding in the characters would contain huge spoilers. This would create big problems for later Seasons, so yes, the only character that will be tagged is Ed.  
> This story is set in a made-up Elseworld that is set in a fictional timeline that is a mash-up of the 1920s through the 1940s. The story genre is a mix of the comics, noir, and mystery. There are a lot of mysteries throughout the story: whole story mysteries that will span multiple seasons, character mysteries, season mysteries etc; I hope they're fun for everyone to try to solve! There are also comic/movies/show references and Easter eggs in here, so have fun DC fans!  
> This story deals with some serious topics, but we don't want to examine them in an overly graphic way. I will mention that Edward is going through a lot of mental struggles throughout this whole story, and because of the events/time period of the story there is a lot of drinking and smoking. These subjects will pretty much be in every episode for this whole story, so if you are sensitive to those subjects I suggest not continuing.  
> There is a soundtrack for this Season of ENI (because I'm that much of a nerd): https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1bdd7rknPOnIaFeAjz5ejB?si=atYmgsnFR8iJQh4BcyPa1A  
> There is also a blog dedicated to the story (this is where I post updates/art): enigmainvestigations.tumblr.com  
> Please note: Even though my writing partner is very skilled with this writing thing; I (Ghost) am not a writer. I'm a visual artist, and I've never written anything before, so please be gentle with me as I learn this medium better!  
> All art included in Episodes are drawn by Ghost: badlemonade.tumblr.com

**Episode 1**

_Matchbox_

* * *

Something banged below him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was enough noise to wake him. He stirred lazily, feeling his undershirt sticking to his skin. The room was humid this morning -- if it even was morning. He could feel the nausea creeping in after all those drinks the night before, it made his muscles hurt, and his throat drier the more that he woke. He slowly opened one eye, and the hazy outline of his window met his vision. He wasn’t sure if he’d left it open the night before; all he knew was that everything was much louder this morning. He let out a deep groan and reached a hand out to the floor to grab his glasses. Putting them on, he stared at the cracked ceiling above him, willing the nausea away.  
  
Throwing one leg off the couch, he slowly pulled himself up, trying to get his mind into gear enough to make it to the bathroom. His throat protested as he cleared it. Finally pulling himself up to his feet, he made his way to the small kitchenette in the next room. He opened the icebox, plucked the ice cube tray from within, and made his way to the bathroom. Cursing, he struggled to fit his tall frame in the cramped room, where he turned on the faucet and plugged the sink. He cracked the tray to release the ice and dumped them into the basin. Discarding the tray to the ground, he took a deep breath and pressed his face into the cold water. The sting sent a jolt into his mind, making him recoil quickly, gasping for air. Feeling his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose, he reached up and removed them, wiping his free hand across his face.

Placing his glasses back on, he leaned over the sink again, rapidly splashing the freezing water through his hair and around his neck. The sensation was horrid, but he could feel his brain waking up. He began to rinse his arms too, but stopped when the phone started ringing. Its dreaded sound filled the office, forcing him to turn off the water and grab the small towel by the sink. As he made his way over to his small wooden desk, he dried himself off, and, picking up the handset, answered:  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Inmate 71170, this is officer Blue 334. Check in.” came the usual droll voice.  
  
“Not an inmate, on release.” Edward responded.  
  
There was a sigh. “We’ve gone through this, it's just procedure.”  
  
“Well, it’s a dumb procedure, and you’re dumb for following it,” Edward grumbled, as he sat down in his desk chair.  
  
“Good morning to you, too, Nigma. Glad to hear you’re your usual chipper self.” There was the slightest pause, then the voice became stern once more. “ Check in.”  
  
“Still alive. Still in the exact same spot as the last time. You should know that, you called me.” Edward said, plucking the cigarette pack off of his desk.  
  
“Paperwork says you attended all your meetings. Employment?” the voice asked. There was no emotion or finesse to its tone; it bored Edward.  
  
“Self-employed. Can I just answer ‘nothing has changed’ and be done with it?” Edward asked hurriedly, speaking around the cigarette in his mouth as he lit it.  
  
“No. We’ve gone through this, Nigma. Profits?”  
  
“None,” Edward answered, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

There was the sound of typing on the other line. “Alright, you’re all set. Your appointment with Dr. Lewin is at 11am on Thursday. Expect another follow-up call in a few days.”  
  
“A _few days_ ?” Edward arched his back, stretching. “Are my daily activities so boring you fools think I don’t need babysitting every morning?”  
  
He heard the sound of the line going dead and slammed the handset back on the receiver. He took a deep drag on his snipe, hissing in anger as he blew the smoke out. He’d come to expect such rude behavior from the officer, but the disrespect still got under his skin. Standing up from the desk, he shuffled back to the bathroom. Instead of entering, he snatched a clean shirt from the back of the bathroom door and pulled it on, buttoning it and tucking it into his pants. A belt, socks, and his shoes quickly joined the ragged ensemble before he grabbed his coat and made his way out of his office.  
  
He descended the rickety wooden stairs down to the main entrance of the building and stepped out onto the sidewalk, squinting at the sunlight. The heavy air was already making his skin feel dirty. He wondered if the grime of the streets was seeping up through the moisture. The thought was revolting. 

Edward checked for a break in the traffic then hurried across the street, the action making his muscles ache in protest. Once across, he ducked into the small corner shop, snuffing out his cigarette on the wall by the entrance. The dawn work rush was long over, leaving the shop mostly empty. There was just enough change in his pocket to get his usual goods; a quick check confirmed that. He ordered a coffee, and a copy of the morning’s paper. Tossing the coins to the counter, he noted the owner's expression. It was the same every morning; a look of distrust and, perhaps, a twinge of fear. The man never spoke, but he also never caused Edward any trouble, and Edward was happy for that. 

He grabbed his newly purchased items and darted back across the street, but slowed down significantly when he reached his building and climbed the steps back up to his office. He took a sip from his coffee and he took off his coat, then tossed it to the couch as he passed by and flopped back into his desk chair. He set the coffee down and rubbed his palms together rapidly, trying to relieve some of his nervousness. A small breath escaped his lips as he flipped it open, skimming some of the articles just to make sure there hadn’t been some catastrophic event while he’d been passed out. He was sure he’d have plenty of time later to read through it. He was rarely busy on his appointment-free days, and he needed to check the classifieds for any potential work. Leafing through the pages, a small headline made him stop: “Riddler Released,” it read in bold. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes rapidly skimming the small article. It was on his release from Arkham, and said something about it not being in the public’s best interests. He was dangerous, the journalist declared, and it was clear that they had only “set him loose on the city” because of a lack of funds. Reading the words, he could feel the muscles in his jaw tighten and his teeth clench.

He’d been out for about three weeks now, and the idea of his release only now being reported made him feel somehow small. Typically when his name had been in the paper it was front page news, with the flashiest of zingy headlines. “The Riddler’s Rampage” had always been his favorite -- he used to have a clipping of it, and he’d kept it pinned up at one of his hideout’s workstations. But now, here he was, barely important enough for a small blip on the fourth page. Is this what he’d been reduced to? Is that what they thought of him? And what did they mean that his being released was just due to funding? Did they really think that they would let him, of all people -- someone the mayor once called one of the most dangerous criminals in all of Gotham -- would they really let him out on the streets simply because they couldn’t afford to keep him? One time, during a blackout, the asylum had redirected power from external generators just to keep the locks on his cell in place. One would think the people in the city would be more frightened. He was sure having him out and about would instill fear in the public; the looks he received on the street certainly cemented that thought. But the funding conclusion was insulting, irritatingly so. But, then, that annoying inner voice crept in, the voice that had started months ago and hadn’t stopped bugging him since.

_Things are different now. None of you are really all that scary anymore, not after the real fear that the public felt. In their eyes, your release is just another example of how the city has turned its back on its people. They’re more afraid of that reality._ He felt his confidence seep away and pushed the paper away from him on the desk. Those thoughts always seemed to choose the worst moments to creep in, second-guessing his rationality and stalling him whenever he needed confidence. He took a sip of coffee and reminded himself it wasn’t always bad, that it’d saved his life more times than he could count. Right now, though, wasn’t one of those times. He really wished he had better control over that voice, but it always chose the worst moments to creep into his thoughts. He’d always been critical of others, and was used to his mind picking apart the weaknesses and flaws of the people around him. It always felt like an advantage he held over them -- but then, his mind had done something rebellious. It looked inward. It found his flaws, his weaknesses. And now it refused to stop or yield in its examination of everything wrong with him and his thinking. 

He leaned back in his chair. What little energy he’d had to be productive today had gone, and his frustration was making his hangover worse. He could feel a slight headache coming on; his first thought was that he would never drink again, but he knew that was a lie. For the first time in his life, his mind was an enemy, unrelenting and traitorous, and, sometimes, the alcohol was the only thing that got it to stop. Bad nights, like last night, were just too exhausting to deal with on his own.

The phone rang again, yanking him from his thoughts. He stared at it as if confused, pondering who it could be, and reached over to answer.  
  
“Enigma Investigations, this is Nigma,” he said plainly into the handset.

There was a silence at first, then came the tender voice of a woman, “Mr. Nigma? Edward Nigma? As in, _the_ Edward Nigma?”  
  
Edward rolled his eyes, but kept his voice as professional as he could. “Yes, miss, that’s me. What can I do for you?” He assumed it was a reporter, probably desperate for some scandalous headline to please her editor; he was sure he was going to get a lot of those, now that the story of his release was getting around.  
  
There was a pause on the line. “My name is Donna Hattie, I-” she paused for a moment. Edward could hear the nervousness in her voice when she continued, “I’m sorry, I’ve never done something like this before. I feel rather foolish. I was just wondering if I could speak with you?”  
  
Edward frowned at that. “About what, exactly, Miss Hattie? I’m sorry, but I’m not really interested in speaking with any papers at the moment.”  
  
“Oh, oh, no! Nothing like that! It's just -- I read in the paper you’re a private investigator?” Hattie said hurriedly.

Edward felt his brain jolt back to life. “Yes! I’m so sorry, Miss Hattie. I’d assumed I’d be hearing from reporters a lot today. My apologies, what can I help you with?”  
  
“Oh, it's fine. I’m sure you get a lot of those kinds’a calls,” she huffed lighty, and the next words she spoke were much softer, as if she was whispering, “I wanted to speak with you about my apartment building. It's just -- I’d prefer to speak to you in person, if that’d be alright?”

“Of course,” Edward could feel his pulse quicken, “let me give you the address.”  
  
The next few moments were rather swift. He gave her the easiest route to his building from her side of the city; she wasn’t that far away. Bidding her safe travels, Edward hung up the phone. His eyes scanned the room in horror, and he began quickly tidying up, opening the windows to help air it out as he went through the room. He chucked the garbage out the window onto the fire escape, sifting it out of view with his foot. He flipped the couch cushions over and snatched his coat up, hanging it by the door. He gave the room one last look over and, deciding this was as good as it was going to get, he hurried back to the bathroom.  
  
The water in the sink was still cold, but he didn’t have the time to worry about that now. He had to get at least some of the city grime off. He removed his clothes and glasses and dunked his head in the freezing water, ruffling it through his hair. Cleaning and drying himself off the best he could, he grabbed his only set of clean clothes from the bathroom door, expertly putting them on. Adjusting his glasses in the mirror, he fixed his hair and made a mental note of how much he hated how the grey color of his suit looked on him. The color, combined with his weight loss, made him look unhealthier than he actually felt. He took a deep breath, taking one last look at himself in the mirror, and hurried back to the main room, closing the bathroom door as he left.  
  
It wasn’t much of a wait for Miss Hattie to arrive. He’d had just about enough time to gulp down the rest of his coffee when he’d heard the knock on the door. Answering it, he let her in and held out his hand to her. “Nice to meet you, Miss Hattie. Hope it wasn’t too hard to find?”  
  
At first she seemed apprehensive, but she shook his hand. “Oh, no, dear. Your directions were rather clear, it's nice to meet you as well.” Pulling her hand back, she rested a painted fingernail to her lip, a small smile forming there. “It _is_ you,” she said softly. “I’ve seen your picture plenty’a times. Y’know, I thought this was just someone trying to make money off’a your name? It wasn’t until I saw that article in the paper that I got up the courage to call you.”  
  
Edward was taken back by that, but quickly put on a smile to cover it. “Ah, I see. Well, I’m glad you did. Please, sit,” he said, and he motioned her to the small wooden chair in front of his desk. He pulled it out for her, making sure she was comfortable, before sitting down himself. He noticed her looking around the office, though he didn’t detect any looks of fear or disgust. He was used to surprise meetings in his previous line of work, but now he felt like a fish out of water, almost sure he’d overlooked something. _It is odd she looks so relaxed around you, not many would be_. The thought struck him suddenly, and he decided to take a closer look at his prospective client. Miss Hattie was a short woman; it was hard to determine her age, but she certainly had seen some years. He noticed her attire, crisp and clean, though nothing she wore cost over a dollar. He’d heard the West Side accent over the phone, and even though his ego slumped when he saw she clearly wasn’t some millionaire here to have him follow her rich husband around, something about this scenario made his mind itch for more information. 

It was especially odd, considering that the city had only just now started to get itself back together. And after what had happened he knew the citizens of Gotham were anxious of the survivors, especially those who were criminals. The unease was palpable, as if at any moment they were expecting retaliation, retribution for their hand in the events. That the criminals were going to do to them what they’d condoned. The people of the slums were especially nervous; they’d already been through enough of the chaos, and he knew they were already bracing for the second round of destruction. And now, here sat Miss Hattie, in the office of a criminal -- a survivor -- in a slum not too far from where the horror had begun. He wasn’t sure if she was brave, smart, desperate, or if she was simply a cog in another scheme to get to him. He’d gotten used to desperate calls from investigators trying to get his statement, and the doctors at the asylum had spent most of their time trying to crack into his mind to see what possible damage had been caused by the events. Or, maybe, someone wanted to take advantage of his new lot in life to get revenge. That wouldn’t be surprising.  
  
Miss Hattie didn’t look the type; rather than some sort of malicious spy, she looked like a woman who had worked her whole life and probably had a family. Normal, boring human behavior. She did seem a tad nervous, but, if she was genuine, he understood why that was. He broke himself out of his thoughts and flashed her a calm smile. “So, you said you’d feel more comfortable talking here. Are you in any kind of danger?”  
  
Miss Hattie looked shocked by the assumption, shaking her head with a light chuckle, “Oh! No, no. It's nothing that serious. It’s just, I’m staying with my son currently. I don’t think him or his wife would approve of me coming here to speak with you.”  
  
_Smart kid,_ Edward thought. “I see. Is your son aware of -- well, you said something happened with your apartment building? It was a little hard to hear you over the phone.”  
  
“Yes, he’s aware. It's why I’m staying with him,” Miss Hattie said, a twinge of nerves showing in her voice.  
  
“So it's not just a quick family visit, I take it?” Edward asked. She clutched her handbag tighter, and the muscles in her arms tensed. She was shutting down. Edward leaned forward, lowering his tone to calm her. “Miss Hattie, you don’t need to be nervous. Anything you say to me, I’m not going to repeat, not to anyone. I legally can’t, even if I wanted to. Nothing you say leaves this room.”  
  
Her eyes brightened at that, and he could see some of the tension leave her. “Really?” she asked, before letting out the breath she’d been holding, fanning herself with the handkerchief she’d plucked from her bag. “I’m so sorry. I’ve never done something like this before. Thankfully, never had to. I wasn’t sure-” she stopped suddenly. Leaning forward, she dropped her voice. “If I tell you about a crime, do’ya have to tell the cops?”

Edward raised his brows. “No,” he said flatly. That didn’t seem to calm her as much as he’d hoped. “Miss Hattie, you really don’t need to worry about the cops with me. I’ve had plenty of experience with them. Trust me, they won’t get anything out of me.” He thought the boast might’ve been overdoing it, but, to his surprise, she chuckled.  
  
“Oh, I bet you do! I thought as much, but I wasn’t sure if -- didn’t know if you _had_ to report crimes, and things of that sort.” she said through her laughter.  
  
“I wouldn’t be doing this job if I had to. Anyway, I can run circles around them if need be. You really don’t need to be concerned about that.” He was rather surprised by this development, he hadn’t pegged her as someone who might be involved in the more seedy elements of the city. 

“Good! I don’t trust them with this. I mean, they’re already involved, and that’s part of the problem. Fools aren’t doing a very good job, as I see it.” She leaned back in the chair, appearing much more relaxed than she had been since she arrived.  
  
_Not a predator, she’s the prey_ , he thought. “They don’t have the best track record. But, they are rather busy at the moment. So, was it a break in?” he asked. 

“No. It’s -- the building caught fire,” she said. The words sounded hard for her to get out. “The whole thing just went up in flames, like a matchbox.”  
  
That statement brought back some memories Edward preferred not to think about. “I see. And I take it they have already investigated, and found no foul play?” He saw her nod, and continued. “You don’t agree?”  
  
Miss Hattie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she spoke again. “The firemen said it was an electrical fire. Something about how the grounding had gone bad, chalked it up to damage that must’ve happened during the lockdown, or some such nonsense.” She wiped her face with the handkerchief. “Thing is, though, the landlord had everything checked. I remember, I had to let some workers into my apartment. Tore a hole in my wall to get to some of the wiring, never did completely pick up after themselves.” She huffed, annoyed.  
  
“Wait, they just did maintenance on the wiring in the building?” Edward asked. She nodded in response, making him frown. “Was the building part of the lockdown?”  
  
“No. See what I mean? It's strange,” she said, frowning down at the floor for a moment. Looking back up, her eyes met his, and he could see a determination in them that wasn’t there before. “Mr. Nigma, I’m just gonna be honest with you. I can’t pay you much. I know that I don’t have that much of a reason to even be suspicious, but I just have a feeling. You ever just know something’s wrong? And the feeling just won’t go away? No matter how much you try to talk yourself out of it?”  
  
_Yeah, you know what that’s like, all too well._ Edward nodded, enticing Miss Hattie to continue, “All I really need -- you’re a very smart man. I’ve heard of the things you’ve done, I read all about what you did with the Gunners Boys. I followed it through the papers. If something is wrong, I’m sure you’ll be able to find it. I just -- can you just go take a look? That’s all I need, just your eye, just look and see.” She took a breath before continuing, “It will only take about an hour of your time, and if you tell me you don’t see anything suspicious, I’ll accept it.”  
  
“And if I do find something suspicious?” Edward asked.

“If you do… I guess I’ll just have to keep pestering those cops.” Miss Hattie finished, sitting up in the chair.  
  
Edward remained silent, his mind running through the potential issues this case could bring up. If the police were already involved, he knew his presence would surely get people talking -- _as if many people talk about you these days --_ but he really didn’t want to give them an excuse to come knocking at his door. And going out to the slums at night wasn’t a very safe idea, either. Normally, he wouldn’t feel any concern over it, but he really had lost quite a bit of his muscle mass over the last few months. _The lack of money and food aren’t helping in that department, but you’ve been in worse shape and survived_ . This could still be a trick, but using some woman with a story of a fire sounded like an idiotic ploy just to lure him out to some abandoned slum. His mind started to wonder if this could have anything to do with Penguin, when that voice grew more insistent. _She’s going to pay you to go look at some burnt rubble, stop overthinking it. You need the money. Hell, you don’t even really have to go. You could make up some story, she’d probably believe you._ _  
_  
“Alright, I’ll give the scene an examination,” Edward finally said, making a small smile cross Miss Hattie’s lips.  
  
“Thank you. Thank you very much, Mr Nigma,” she said.  
  
During the rest of their exchange, her mood seemed to have improved. Edward found it strange but oddly comforting that she happily handed her money over to him. She seemed in full confidence he’d be true to his word, which was certainly not the treatment he was used to receiving, especially from regular citizens. He grilled her for a few more moments, asking questions of any potential concerns he should take into account and jotting her answers down in his notebook. He helped her to her feet and reiterated the directions for the quickest route back to her side of the city. She thanked him for his concern, and, just before he closed the door behind her, she looked him in the eye, still with that calm smile. “I really do hope I see you again, Mr. Nigma,” she said, before descending the stairs.  
  
_Not as gullible as she seems_ , he thought. 

He spent the rest of the daytime hours eating what little food he had left in the kitchenette, taking a much-needed nap to help with his hangover, and washing his other suit in the bathroom sink. He hung it on the laundry line outside his window on the fire escape. With the humidity he knew it was going to take longer than normal to dry, the rains were really lingering this year. After finishing picking up the garbage he’d dumped there this morning, he looked to the sky, noting the low hanging clouds that looked full enough to burst. He frowned as he climbed back through the window to the kitchenette. He’d had enough of the rains, to be quite honest. He never thought it was possible, but he was ready for the chill of the Gotham fall.  
  
He took the money Hattie had given him and hid it in the narrow crack in his desktop, while his mind began working over the case again. What would be the best way to handle it? He was sure if he simply did a walk by the premises he’d be able to gather enough visual cues to make up a convincing story, hopefully something that would ease her mind. He looked out the window behind him, staring at the rain clouds rolling over the slums around him. The rain would be good cover. He’d be able to sneak in without many witnesses, and he was sure the storm would keep many unsavory people off the streets.  
  
He sat down at the desk, reached over to grab the paper he’d discarded that morning, and began flipping through the pages. His neighbor’s radio turned on -- it was always loud enough for him to hear it with the windows open -- and he listened periodically to the news reports that broke in. Eventually it became too dark for him to finish the article he’d been reading, so he flipped on the tiny lamp on his desktop. A light tapping sound began on the window behind him. It was raining. He leaned back in the office chair, letting out a deep breath; he figured now was time to make a final decision. He listened to the streets below, hearing the vendors begin to close their windows and pull their displays inside. The city was closing down early. If he planned this right, he could finish in enough time to stop by one of the shops and grab some more whiskey. His fingers were tapping out a rhythm on the desk as he thought, his mind rapidly deciding on the best plan to get there and back.  
  
Standing up, he grabbed his switchblade from the desk drawer and stuffed it into his pocket, turning off the light as he went to grab his coat. Throwing it on, he placed his hat on and locked the door behind him as he headed down the stairs. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked around. There were a few children down the street playing in the rain, but otherwise people were quickly shuffling about, trying to find shelter. He turned on the spot and began the walk to the streetcar stop. Walking the city blocks there would be unpreferred in the rain, but he decided it would help ease more of the fog his hangover still had over his body.  
  
The walk wasn’t as horrible as he’d figured it would be, and the streetcar wasn’t as packed as he’d imagined. He easily found a spot to sit on one of the benches, his aching muscles thankful for the rest. As the streetcar rattled along its track, his mind began to mull over all the information again as he formed a plan to get in and out quickly. He vaguely watched as riders got off at different stops, eventually leaving the streetcar almost empty. Being lost in his thoughts for most of the trip, he was alarmed when a sickness began in his stomach. Then it hit him. It was the smell of the city around him, the rain, and that familiar sickening smell of rotting, burnt wood. The smell of the river flooded his senses. He’d forgotten they’d changed the streetcar route. He didn’t look up, he didn’t need to, he could already hear the sloshing sounds of the water as they got closer to the island bridges. His eyes scanned his surroundings for a street sign, but as he did, he could feel his hands start to shake. He willed them to stop. The sign for Billington passed by, and he hurried to the back of the car, hopping out into the street. The sudden silence of his surroundings made the sounds of the river so much louder in his ears. He hurried onto the sidewalk, silent. His breath was quickening, and he could hear the blood flowing through his head. The sickness in his stomach was becoming almost unbearable.  
  
He shook his hands at his sides, trying to relieve some of the nervousness and the tension. Without looking up, he turned down the sidewalk, beginning the remainder of his trip. Keeping his eyes low to the pavement as he walked, he heard a car turn down a street behind him. It made his nerves spark in anticipation. He tried to keep his focus just on his steps, one foot in front of the other, ignoring the memories trying to creep back into his mind. Another step forward and his foot went right through a puddle. The sensation of the dirty water filling his shoe opened up a floodgate; suddenly, flashes of events tore through his mind. 

Knee-deep water, the weight of the gun in his hand, the pulsing pain in his right leg. 

He stopped on the sidewalk and shut his eyes tightly, trying to get the memories to stop, but the smell of the river kept bringing them back. He let out a pained groan. He didn’t understand. He felt so out of control. The one thing that had always been his greatest ally was turning on him. The fear quickly turned to frustration. He opened his eyes, deciding he was sick of it, sick of avoiding it all. All he was doing was just desperately patching holes on a sinking ship. He turned and looked at the island bridge, thinking it was time to stop running, and start confronting it head-on.

Some remnants of the barricades remained: large trunks of wood and brick were pushed up against the railing, razor wire glistening in the rain. The street was still damaged nearby, and the city had done some rush patch job to fix it, leaving the cracks still visible on the uneven pavement. The island across the river looked tiny. The dark buildings speckled the horizon; it looked like the remains of something dead, a carcass, rather than a once-populated island. It smelled different now, and the silence of it made him uneasy. He’d expected an intense barrage of memories, like what happened often at night, but he was met with something lifeless. He stared for a moment longer, noticing the fencing the city had put up around it, seeing where they’d cleaned a route on the main roads for the construction traffic. Looking to the street signs above, he saw the directional signs for the Narrows had been blocked off. Large “detour” signs took their place, directing traffic to the overhead bridges. The sight gave him a feeling of finality. The island held no answers, and it provided no closure. It was just dead. Letting out a deep breath, he took one last look at the island and continued down the opposite street toward his destination.

The farther he got from the Narrows, the more the sensations began to ease. His fear and frustration was replaced with a sense of emptiness he hadn’t expected; he felt almost numb to it all by the time he reached the buildings he was headed to. He’d thought actually looking at the island would be like confronting some horrific beast, and the lack of that resolution or answers of any kind was wearing on him. _Stop worrying, talk to Lewin about it in your next appointment--_ but that thought frightened him. He took a deep breath to compose himself, then he looked up at the buildings around him. The lights inside them and the soft sounds of people filled the air; he hadn’t thought this block would still be inhabited. Then he saw it: the darkened shell of what he assumed to be Miss Hattie’s previous residence. He could see the smoke damage on the remaining two buildings beside it. He noticed that both were still housing residents. He watched a cat slink inside an open window of a dimly lit room, heard one of the residents dump some wash water to the alleyway. All of it struck him as odd. It appeared Hattie’s building had sustained most of the damage, and it was enough damage to make the whole building uninhabitable. Yet the other buildings appeared to only have minor damage.  
  
Hurrying up to the entrance, he checked his watch and noted the time. Taking out his notepad, he skimmed his notes quickly, refreshing his memory and reinvigorating his focus. He climbed the few steps to the main entrance and gently pushed what was left of the front door open. The main hall didn’t appear to be too damaged by the fire, and he took a few steps inside, noting that the upper floor had been torn open by the firemen. _Gotta watch your step up there_ , he thought as he saw the floor above through holes in the ceiling. He took out his flashlight and flicked it on, checking the apartment to his left first, before making his way slowly up the steps. He looked between the two doors on the top landing before going through the door on his right, per Miss Hattie’s instructions. He frowned while looking over the damage. It was quite bad, _like a matchbox_ he remembered her saying -- and it certainly looked it.

Everywhere he looked was burned, the skeletons of her furniture scattered around the apartment, with every inch blackened by either smoke or fire. Moving further in, he kept his eyes to the floor, hopping over the weak spots as he picked his way to one of the back rooms. He reached a doorway and looked inside, searching the small room with his torch until he finally spotted the hole in the wall Miss Hattie had mentioned. He stepped over to it, avoiding another hole in the flooring, and bent down to check inside the wall.

Suddenly, a floorboard creaked in another room. He could hear what sounded like footsteps behind him. He frowned and turned his flashlight toward the door, bathing the hall in light.

He listened, hearing only the tapping of the rain water throughout the building.

  
  



	2. Episode 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious lurker in the dark, a burned husk of a building, and a possible case resolution.

**Episode 2**

_ Fleeting _

* * *

He spun around, grabbing the knife in his pocket, until he found himself shining his flashlight out a broken window. Frowning, he narrowed his eyes and listened to the alleyway below; suddenly, a figure swung into his view. It only took Edward mildly by surprise, though at first he clutched the knife in his pocket tighter. The boy framed in the window gave Edward a curious smile. He wasn’t sure how they did it, but these children always found the best way to get on his nerves.  
  
“You know, Nigma; I knew I’d see you at a low, but looting through empty apartments must be an all-time low for you,” the boy joked.  
  
Edward ignored the taunt and simply stared at the kid, noticing his voice sounded deeper than the last time he’d heard it, though not as natural. _And still trying to cover up that priggish accent of his_ , he thought. There was no mistaking who the child was. The cape, the mask, the ridiculous red outfit, and him being perched on the side of the wall outside the second floor window made it all too obvious. Just his luck he’d run into Robin, of all people. But his presence begged the question of whether or not his darker, more dangerous shadow was lurking nearby as well. Edward continued to glare for a moment longer, before crouching back down to the hole in the wall and reaching in to check some of the wiring.   
  
“Where’s the big guy?” Edward asked, sifting some of the wood fragments away.  
  
Robin nimbly shimmied through the window, and Edward heard him land behind him. He hated how agile they all were.   
  
“He’s working,” Robin said, still stressing his voice. His attempt to sound more intimidating was all too apparent, and Edward rolled his eyes.  
  
“Pfft, he doesn’t have a job,” Edward muttered. He grabbed ahold of one of the wood planks in the wall, shifted his weight, and gave it a good tug. The weak wood cracked just enough for him to pull it out, giving him a better view of the wiring inside.  
  
“Neither do you.” he heard Robin retort, but he could feel the boy shift around behind him. Edward turned to look at him; Robin was peering between the wood panels, eyeing the wires.  
  
“What are you doing?” Robin asked.  
  
“I’m doing an investigation. What are _you_ doing here?” Edward asked.

“I’m here because you’re here, Nigma. You’re slinking around an abandoned building at night. That isn’t exactly upstanding ex-criminal activity.” Robin said.

“Good to know I don’t just have the cops and the trigger men watching my every move. I can add you annoying brats to the growing list.” Edward said, flashing him a mock grin. “I think my presence here is less concerning than yours: is he so overworked he has you running his patrols for him? Or is he too scared to leave your little cave after all the public disgrace?” Edward saw Robin frown just a bit at that. The tell made a small smile cross his face.  _ That’s clearly a sore spot, good to know.  _

“It's weird you always want to bring him up right away,” Robin said. “Your fixation on him is kind of alarming.”    
  
Edward felt his mood sour, unable to deny the accurate observation. He knelt back down to the floor and pulled away some of the loose floorboards. “Don’t presume you know anything about me, kid. He's simply the one I need to be concerned with, not you.”   
  
He leaned in closer to the ground, noting the lack of fire damage. There wasn't any sign the wiring had been tampered with, either. Something glittering in his torch’s light caught his eye, and he moved a bit of debris out of the way to get a better look. Reaching into the floor, he picked it up and brought it to his torch, watching its tendrils glint in the light as they tried to escape his grasp. It was a small silver necklace; real silver, he noticed, and it looked rather old. He saw Robin’s curious expression out of the corner of his eye and stuffed the necklace into his inside jacket pocket. He moved around Robin to exit the room and saw a stunned look on the boy’s face as he passed. 

“Did you just pocket someone’s valuables? Right in front of me?” Edward heard him ask as he turned the corner and began making his way down the hall.    
  
“Why not? I told you already, kid. You’re not the one I have to be worried about.” Edward stepped over the gaps in the floor as he made his way to the front door. He heard a soft thud, and then the boy was right in front of him. Glaring, Robin pointed back in the direction of the room they’d just left. “Put it back." He’d dropped the bravado now, his voice sounding more natural, and quite serious.    
  
“No,” Edward said coolly. “The owner of that necklace is my client. I’m sure she’ll be very pleased to have it returned to her.” He gave Robin a sly smirk before moving around him and through the door. Descending the stairs, he heard Robin jump to the landing railing beside him, still shadowed in the darkness.    
  
“Investigation? Clients? You’re really trying to push this whole private investigator ruse, aren’t you,” came Robin’s voice from the dark.   
  
“A ruse? Why would it be a ruse?” Edward jeered, flicking the light from his torch around the hall below as he maneuvered down the stairs.

“Because you’re The Riddler, and everything you do is a ruse. All you do is manipulate everyone around you for your own ends. Or it's a trick, or it's a scam --” Robin’s voice echoed in the landing.   
  
“Wow. I’m wholly offended by that presumption.” Edward said flatly. 

“No one is falling for it, Nigma.” Robin’s voice was childish in its mocking, “Everyone is just trying to figure out what the mark is.”

Edward turned and shined the light right in Robin’s face, happy to see the boy try to block it with his hand. “All these accusations coming from a child, who only has his current position because the  _ other one _ caught a bad case of death by clown.” 

He saw Robin narrow his eyes in the shadow cast by his hand, and then the boy leaped down to the ground floor next to Edward. He really did hate how agile they all were.    
  
“You can try all you want, Nigma. You’re not going to rile me up. What are you really doing here? What’s the catch?” Robin said, surprisingly not attempting to mimic his mentor’s more intimidating presence, not like the other two did. Edward always found that quite embarrassing for them.   
  
“The catch is simple, boy. There isn’t one.” Edward smiled upon seeing the distrust on Robin’s face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I only have one area left to check. Then I can go home, get out of this dreadful rain, and get sloshed.”    
  
Edward turned away, making his way down the main hall toward the back of the building. He heard Robin shuffling about, most likely vanishing into the dark again. Edward could feel his mind buzzing with excitement, he hadn’t had much of a chance to goad someone this long for months. The exchange had reinvigorated his senses -- it felt as if he was waking up from a long and mundane dream. A hunger he’d forgotten was seeping back into him, a battle of the mind that only the most cunning would win. He smiled wider as he approached the large broken window at the back of the hall. Peeking his head out, he checked the distance to the ground and looked around the back alley. He didn’t have to worry too much about a possible mugger; he did have a bird watching him after all.    
  
He cradled the flashlight under his arm and yanked the window open. Dropping the flashlight into his coat pocket, he climbed through the frame, turning his body toward the building and gripping the ledge while he pressed his feet against the rough brick wall. Judging the distance to the ground, he hopped off the wall and landed on the ground with a thud. As his feet hit the ground he felt his knees buckle under his weight. A twinge of pain shot through his right leg, sending him to his knees. He let out an annoyed sigh and pulled himself up to his feet, brushing the dirty water off his hands. He heard a break in the rain above him, prompting him to look up. A small figure was lurking in the shadows of the roof.    
  
“Go on,” Robin called down to him, “You said you didn’t need to be concerned with me, so go about your business. I’ll just watch.”   
  
_ Persistent little brat _ , Edward thought. He plucked the flashlight from his pocket and shined it up to Robin, though this time the boy didn’t block the light. Curious, Edward looked him over, a thought forming in his head. 

“What do you know about wiring?” Edward asked.   
  
That took Robin off guard; that distrustful look was on his face again. “Wiring?” Robin asked.   
  
“Yes, wiring. Interior electrical wiring, to be more specific.” Edward responded.   
  
Robin contemplated his answer, then gave the slightest shrug of his shoulders. “I know enough.”   
  
Edward nodded, then motioned with the flashlight down to the ground beside him, “Come here.”   
  
He heard Robin snigger. “Why the hell would I do that?”   
  
Edward huffed. “You want to know what I’m doing, correct? Just -- come here.”   
  
Robin hesitated as he tried to figure out what Edward’s play could be, but eventually glided down beside him. He took a position a bit farther than Edward had intended, trying to keep his distance. But Edward took one long step and closed the gap between them. He saw Robin’s posture straighten, but he motioned his torch to the wall, shining it there. “Do you know what that is?” he asked.   
  
He hovered the light over the open door to the basement, showing the opened security gate to the electrical panel. Its fried, blackened circuits glimmered in the moist air. Robin frowned and looked to Edward, that distrustful look returning to his face. “Yes. Your point is?”   
  
“Don’t jump ahead. You see that wiring there?” Edward asked, gesturing with the light over the exposed wire tubing. “Does that look brand new to you?”   
  
Robin frowned, confused. “Yes. Again, what’s your point?”   
  
“My client was one of the residents of this building when it went up in flames. Fire inspectors told her it was an electrical fire, which would make complete sense considering the area. Happens all the time in these older buildings. She doesn’t buy it, though.” He looked to Robin, trying to judge his expression. He saw the slightest hint of curiosity. “She says the building was completely rewired, and it looks like the overhaul was mostly updated hardware. See where I’m going with this?”   
  
Robin frowned again. Edward grinned, imagining the gears moving in his head.    
  
“I mean -- I think I get what you’re saying. But, just because the building’s wiring was updated doesn’t mean it can’t still be an electrical fire.”   
  
“Congratulations, thank you for stating the obvious. But, that looks like some expensive equipment. Completely renovated, with rubber wire tubing, looks high grade --”   
  
“Well, they all should have it.” Robin interrupted.    
  
Edward frowned, flicking the light back to Robin’s face. “Come again?”   
  
Robin squinted, but, again, didn’t block the light. “This whole area should have renovated electrical systems. Wayne Enterprises upgraded them all, to help the city with the safety efforts. They did the whole job at their own expense.”   
  
“When did this happen?” Edward asked, appalled he’d missed this detail.   
  
“During the last dry season. The city officials were worried if a fire broke out it’d cause a chain reaction, and the whole slums would go up in flames. So Wayne Enterprises stepped in to cover the cost and ensure safety was the priority. They’re probably some of the safest buildings in the whole city now.”   
  
Edward stared at the boy. The details of what he said made sense. He remembered how one of the train terminals almost caught fire last year, and remembered how the officials were worried about the long spans of no rain with the dry heat. But he’d missed the solution they came to to resolve the issue. He looked back to the electric panel with his torch. “Huh… not sure how I missed that.”    
  
“Maybe it was because you were too busy manipulating the Gunners and Burney Town gangs into a gang war. And hijacking the radio transmissions to send coded --”   
  
“Yes, yes. I remember now, I was quite busy that year.” Edward cleared his throat, his mind working over the new information. “Okay, so, whiny Wayne fixes the West Side slums for a tax break. Still doesn’t answer how the fire became so hot to burn the entire back half of the building, but not enough to cause more damage to the neighboring buildings. Or, for it to not just engulf the whole back alley. Plenty of garbage back here, easy kindling.”   
  
He watched Robin out of the corner of his eye. The boy was looking at the debris-filled alley where they stood with a look of serious contemplation. Edward continued, “It’s been an incredibly wet storm season this year, as well. I’m no fireman -- because I’m not an imbecile -- but a lot of this isn’t adding up. Wet surroundings, moist air, safety preparations in place, plenty of directions for the fire to spread quickly -- and yet, it was only the back of this building that burned.”   
  
Robin turned his gaze back up to him, and the look of distrust returned. “Are you insinuating that the fire was controlled?”   
  
“I’m not insinuating anything, kid. I’m just speculating. Quite odd though, yes?” Edward asked, grinning over to Robin. He turned off the flashlight and stuffed it back into his coat pocket, turning once more to face the boy.    
  
“Well, this has been fun, kid,” he said, then stepped around Robin and headed down the alley that led to the front of the building.    
  
“Wait,  _ that’s it?  _ You’re just going to leave?” he heard Robin ask, exasperated. 

“Yes,” Edward said, spinning around to face him again. “All I got paid to do was look at the scene. I did that, now I’m going home --”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, I remember, ‘to get sloshed.’” Robin interrupted. Edward could hear the irritation in his voice.   
  
“Precisely. You want to solve the mystery, figure it out yourself. You’re the crime fighter, and the one who works for free. Not I.” Edward tipped his hat toward the boy as he sauntered down the alleyway, leaving the frustrated Robin alone in the rain.

During the trip back to his office, he’d felt surprisingly chipper. He’d stopped by one of the shops on his way home, purchasing a new bottle of whiskey and a fresh pack of cigarettes. Because of his improved mood, he drank very little of his remaining liquor that evening, and, thinking he might get a good night's sleep, he even turned in early. Then, the dripping began. It had been hard to hear at first, but, as the city around him grew quieter, the more obvious the sound became. There was a leak in his wall, and, no matter what he did, his mind fixated on that rhythmic annoyance all night. By morning he’d had very little sleep, and his good mood had gone. So when the cars began their loud commutes and the morning sunlight shone through his windows, he decided it was time to give up on getting any rest. Climbing off the couch, he began his normal routine. He headed down to the corner shop for his coffee and the morning paper. He ignored the teller and his suspicious gaze as he grabbed up his items before returning to his office. Sitting down at his desk, he took a gulp of his coffee and welcomed the burning sensation it left in his throat.

It was too early in the morning to call Hattie, so at least he could take things slow this morning. Reading through the paper, he flipped past a long article documenting the rebuilding efforts. The next was about the pollution issues in the Gotham River. That one was much more interesting: it stated that there were chemicals seeping into the water, and that the source was unknown, despite numerous investigations. Folding the paper in half, a headline with the word “fire” caught his eye. He set down his coffee and began to read. There’d been another fire last night, this time up in Burnley, also in the slums.  _ Black Mask’s old territory _ , Edward reminded himself. They’d ruled this one an accident as well, though the article didn’t specify the exact circumstances of how they’d come to that determination. He set the paper down and leaned back in his chair, thinking. There could be plenty of logical explanations, but the conditions last night didn’t bode well for it being some accidental flare up. 

Getting up from the desk, he made his way to the bathroom. He’d pulled his laundry in from the line before he’d turned in for the night and had hung it up to dry over the washroom sink. He held his jacket close to his face to give it a sniff, but decided the rain hadn’t ruined the wash too much. He threw on his suit and brushed his teeth for the second time this morning. He decided if he was going to smell like rain water, at least his breath would be fresh. As he exited the bathroom, he checked his watch and saw that it was perfectly normal business hours. It was time to set up his follow-up with Hattie. 

Dialing the number for her that he’d jotted down in his notepad, he lit a cigarette and waited for an answer on the other line. He heard a light click, followed by “Hattie’s residence” from a much deeper voice on the other end.  _ Must be her son,  _ he thought.    
  
“Hello, may I speak with Donna Hattie please? Is she in at the moment?” Edward asked.   
  
There was a pause on the other line. “Who is this?” Mr. Hattie asked.   
  
“I’m sorry to ring you at such an hour, but I’m an investigator. I’m calling regarding the fire at her apartment building on Fleeting Avenue.” Edward answered.  _ Keep it simple _ , he thought. He knew she’d said her son wouldn’t be happy with her speaking with him, so it was better to keep him in the dark.   
  
There was another pause, and then he heard a distant “hold on” as Mr. Hattie set the phone down. He heard some vague noise on the other end, then the soft voice of Donna spoke: “Hello? Who is this?”   
  
“Hello, Miss Hattie. It’s Nigma.”   
  
“Oh!” he could hear the surprise in her voice. “Hello, how are you this morning? Do you have any news?”   
  
“I’m doing well, and I do. I was wondering if you had time today to come and speak with me? Then we can go over what I observed at the building.”   
  
“I could do that, yes. I have some errands to run, I could stop by on my outing. Would that be alright?” Hattie asked, lowering her voice as she had during their first call.   
  
He heard her son in the background, asking her who she was speaking to, and heard her shush him. “That would be fine with me, Miss Hattie. Should I expect you about an hour from now?”

“It shouldn’t be that long, really. I’ll speak with you then.” Hattie said, and they exchanged swift goodbyes.  _ Still trying to hide this investigation from her son, he must be a controlling jerk,  _ Edward thought, but then the thought shifted,  _ Or she’s trying to hide you. _   
  
He’d had just enough time to finish his cigarette, his coffee, and search his cabinets for food when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.  He stopped, listening. It wasn't one person; there were multiple. Someone else had come with Donna, or this wasn't her. He wondered if it was the police, here to harass him again, and immediately began thinking about how he'd explain it to his client if she arrived before they'd left. He'd gone through at least three different scenarios and was well into the fourth when the footsteps stopped and were replaced with a soft knock on his door. He took a breath to prepare himself and walked over, opening it and spotting Miss Hattie with her tired smile, and sure enough, she wasn’t alone. A young man and woman stood behind her. The man was strikingly related to Donna, there were too many similarities in their faces. Edward smiled back at Miss Hattie and opened the door for them all to enter.    
  
“Good morning, Miss Hattie, I wasn’t expecting you this soon. Still an easy commute I hope?” Edward asked, watching the three walk into the office. Mr. Hattie looked agitated; Edward assumed the woman was his wife. She looked nervous, no matter how hard she was trying to hide it. Miss Hattie reached out and shook Edward’s hand. “Yes, still an easy stroll over here. This is my son, Leslie, and my daughter in law, Geneva. They wanted to come along with me this morning, I completely forgot to tell them about our meeting yesterday. They were rather surprised to hear I was headed over here to see you!”    
  
Edward was picking up on her clues. Donna must not be a very good liar when she’s confronted. The call had made Leslie suspicious; which seemed odd, considering she’d said she was in contact with the police about the case. Edward assumed he’d pressed her, and, finding out who she was going to see, they’d decided to come along to protect her from such a dangerous man. 

Edward flashed another calming smile to Donna. “Ah, I see. Well, as long as you don’t mind them knowing the facts of the case, it's perfectly fine with me.” He waited for a small nod of confirmation from her, then he motioned the couple to the couch and pulled out the wooden chair for Donna. Sitting down at his desk, he flipped through his notepad to the notations he’d made the night before. “Miss Hattie, I’d like to start --”   
  
“What do you want with my mother?” Leslie interrupted. 

Geneva grabbed his arm to stop him, and Donna shushed him. “Don’t start, son. You mind your tongue.” Edward looked between the three, watching as Leslie quieted down and Donna gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Right, Miss -- Donna,” Edward began again, “I want to ask you to please listen to everything I have to say before you jump to any conclusions. Can you do that for me?”   
  
“I believe so, yes.” Donna said, adjusting nervously in the chair.   
  
“Thank you,” Edward said. “I can see why your alarm bells went off. The scene does lead to a lot of unanswered questions. Some, to be frank, I’m surprised the investigators didn’t take into account. However, I would like for you to hear me out before you get too upset.”    
  
Edward went through the scene with her, step by step. He explained the suspicious factors and offered possible explanations for them, whether they be malicious or rational. He could see her tense a few times through his explanation; the idea of some malicious intent behind the fire was making her uncomfortable. Concluding with his observations, he paused for a moment before continuing. This part wasn’t going to be easy.  _ Now you’re too nervous to manipulate an elderly mother? You’re really slipping, Ed.  _ He braced himself, and resumed the discussion. “Miss Hattie, have you been in touch with that cop again? Or anyone…  _ else, _ maybe in a similar line of work?”    
  
“No, not yet. Why? Do you think I should tell him all of this?” Donna asked.   
  
“No. No, I don’t think you should do that. I think the smartest thing to do at this point, is to keep quiet about this. All of it,” Edward said, trying to get across the seriousness he was trying to convey. “At this point, I think there’s too many possible factors that could point to the fire being deliberate. You poking around could get someone to notice. As of now, no one knows you hired me, or that I was even there. It's best to keep it that way, for as long as you can.” 

Edward could see the confusion on her face, and he let out a deep sigh. “Donna, if the investigators come to  _ you,  _ then, by all means, tell them what I told you. Tell them they can come talk to me themselves if you don’t think you can explain it all. But I think it's best to wait this one out, and see where it goes.” Edward could see this wasn’t convincing her, not one bit. She was looking at him with fear and concern; he was only frightening her more.    
  
Edward groaned as he lit a cigarette. “Donna, I have reason to believe... it's possible someone else might be investigating this case.”   
  
Donna made a hushed gasp, “You do? Who? Is it Gordon’s detectives?” He saw a glimmer of excitement in her eye at the thought.   
  
“N-no, at least, not right now. But it is from that side of things, if you catch my meaning,” he cocked a brow at her and saw the realization cross her face. Her hand reached to cover her mouth.   
  
“The  _ Batman _ ? Him?” she whispered. The giddiness in her tone was very obvious.   
  
“Yes. Him.” His hand clenched around his pen, and he tried to keep his composure. “Now, don’t get too excited, Miss Hattie. I don’t  _ know _ that he’s investigating, but he’s been snooping around.” Edward took a deep drag from his cigarette, huffing out the smoke. “If he is looking into it, it's best to just wait it out. He can get access to evidence that others can’t. If you want some kind of compensation for all your lost property, I’d say just wait and see if he comes through.”   
  
Donna hung onto every word he spoke, and nodded in agreement. “You’re probably right. He’ll find evidence the cops wouldn’t, he usually locks ‘em all down -- his cases, I mean.”   
  
“It’d make it a lot easier to prove in court,” Edward added.   
  
Donna fidgeted, tapping the side of her finger against her lower lip, then smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Nigma. It’s rather frightening, but I do feel much better.”    
  
“Good. And, keep in mind, all of this only applies if the building  _ didn’t _ burn because of an electrical fire.” Edward reiterated.   
  
“Oh, yes, I know. I understand.” Donna said, nodding again, and reaching her hand across the desk to shake his. “Thank you, again.”   
  
She did appear to be much more relaxed during the brief remainder of their meeting. Edward made sure she knew how to contact him, should the police show up again, and, as he walked her to the door, she gave him a knowing smile. “I’m very glad I got to see you again, Mr. Nigma.” Edward grinned, and nodded knowingly at her. He had a feeling he hadn’t pulled a fast one with her; she seemed much more astute than he’d given her credit for when they’d first met. Geneva hurried past him, giving him a hushed “thank you” as she went to Donna’s side and helped her mother-in-law down the steps. Edward sighed, looking to his right, where Leslie stood glaring at him. Waiting until he heard the footsteps downstairs exit the front door, Edward turned to him. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Hattie?”   
  
“Now, you listen to me,” Leslie began, jamming his finger in Edward’s face, “I don’t know what kinda scam you’re pulling here, or why you pulled it with my mother, but you stay away from her. You hear me?”   
  
Edward gave him a quick look over, watching his body language and expressions as he spoke. Leslie wasn’t a small man, he had plenty of muscle, and he appeared a bit rough around the edges.  _ Probably works at the iron works,  _ Edward thought. But Leslie’s eyes and words gave away his true intentions: he was trying to make himself sound more intimidating than he truly was. Edward saw fear and desperation in his eyes. He was very afraid of Edward, that much was obvious, but he was trying to protect his loved ones. The thought that Donna could be in danger frightened him much more than anything that Edward might do to him in retaliation. Edward’s lack of engagement seemed to further unnerve the younger man, but Leslie tried to keep up the intimidating facade.   
  
“You putting all that nonsense in her head, telling her someone might’a burned down her building. And that bullshit with the Bat! As if you’d still be standing if you ran into --” Leslie stopped as Edward shot him a fierce look.   
  
The two stood in silence for a few tense moments, before Edward finally broke it, “Did you hear there was another fire last night?”   
  
Leslie looked caught off-guard. His shoulders slumped, and he stared at Edward, confused. “Wh-what? No.”   
  
“Yeah, it was in Uptown, in Burnley,” Edward casually remarked, scratching his brow with his thumb. “Same thing, the apartment building just went up in flames. The whole damn thing burned up. But this one was abandoned, they evacuated everyone months ago. Still strange, though. Last night wasn’t exactly the perfect conditions for a blazing inferno.”    
  
Leslie had a mixture of expressions on his face: confusion, wariness, and shock flared across at different intervals. Edward was sure he was trying to figure out if he was being honest, if it was some sick joke, but, also how Edward had gained the upper hand in the conversation so quickly.    
  
“You don’t have to take my word for it, Mr. Hattie. It was in the morning paper.” Edward said, giving him a calm smile. “And when it comes to your mother --” Edward saw him tense, “my business with her is concluded. She paid me for a minor investigation, and I provided that. It's up to her who she keeps in the loop on this, not I. I have no reason to speak to her again.”    
  
Abruptly, he held up finger to stop the discussion. Leslie jumped at the quick movement and watched as Edward hurried to his desk. He plucked a small envelope from the drawer and handed it over to Leslie. “Almost forgot about this. I found it at the scene, I’m sure I can trust you to give it to your mother.”   
  
Leslie looked over the envelope and poured the contents into his hand, revealing the small silver necklace. He eyed it before looking up to Edward again, this time stunned to silence.    
  
“ _ Now _ I have no reason to speak to her again,” Edward said. “Do you have any more insults you’d like to fling at me, Mr. Hattie?” Edward grinned as Leslie shook his head. “Good. Then I believe our business is concluded as well.” With that, Edward motioned his hand toward the open door. Leslie gave him a lingering look before heading out, still too stunned to speak. Edward watched him step out onto the landing, and, with a flick of his wrist, slammed the door behind the younger man. He locked the door, smirking to himself. “Hope that taught you to stay in your lane, Mr. Hattie.”

* * *

That night, Edward’s mind was finally beginning to loosen. The effects of the alcohol were starting to make his muscles relax, and he could feel the strain of the day finally loosening its grip on his body. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. The familiar burn in his throat felt more intense than usual -- he was smoking too much. Cigarettes were cheap, but bad for his fidgety nature. And he was especially fidgety now that his mind felt so overworked and more out of control. He contemplated how much easier life was before, when he didn’t have to worry about his financial situation or his mental state. But the usual pang of disappointment followed the thoughts, making him push them from his mind. 

The newscaster on the neighbor’s radio screeched into the night. They were saying something about the rebuilding efforts in the city, but Edward reached over and closed the window. He took a swig from the whiskey bottle on his desk, and he welcomed the sting in his chest from the liquor. He’d been reminded too often the last couple days of the devastation, and he just wished everyone would shut up about it all. Getting a good night's sleep was already hard enough. Combine that with his lack of food, and the lack of sleep, it had all done a number on him by the end of the day. He knew he could fix the leak on his own, but the last thing he wanted to do was to upset his new landlord. The man had been reluctant to rent to him, just like everyone else in the area. He didn’t want to be on the man’s radar any more than he already was, and he reminded himself he wouldn’t be here long anyway. That’s what he always told himself, but it was beginning to feel like a feeble lie. 

He placed a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and began to flip through the notebook on his desk, going over the investigation again in his mind. The fire turned out to be much more exciting than he’d thought it would, but he wasn’t sure it was the kind of excitement he’d been looking for. After agreeing to take Donna’s case, he’d been more focused, and he didn’t feel as chaotic for a few hours. But then the brat had appeared. He thought about that rush of excitement again. Despite it being fun picking on the kid, he decided it wasn’t in his best interests to repeat that encounter too often. He remembered that swift wave of anxiety when he thought the Bat might be on the prowl. He didn’t want to cross paths with Batman any time soon, not after everything that had happened. He hated him as always, but now he felt like less of an equal with the Dark Knight. He had a creeping suspicion they were both too different now, that they might not even recognize each other when they did meet again. That thought scared him the most, but he wasn’t sure why. Things certainly were much simpler before.    
  
He heard the nightly chime for the station broadcast’s end on his neighbor’s radio, and was surprised it was so late. He slid the notebook away and snuffed out his cigarette while his stomach gave a painful growl. He drummed his fingers on the desktop, thinking he might jump down to the bar down the block. Perhaps he could con some lonely patron into buying him some dinner there. Deciding that wasn’t too embarrassing for his current predicament, he stood up from his desk to grab his hat. Then the room was filled with the blaring sound of ringing. Startled, Edward stared at the phone on his desk; someone was calling him.  He glanced at his watch for the time: midnight. No time for a respectable person to be calling, unless it was urgent. His gaze went back to the phone, its ringing relentless.

Whoever was on the line wasn't going to stop until he gave in and picked up. He steeled himself, clenched his jaw, and reached for the phone.

  
  



	3. Episode 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward receives an interesting late-night phone call, and he finds that the criminal underworld would like to have a meeting.

**Episode 3**

_ The Funnel _

* * *

Edward stared at the phone, stunned, while the rings continued to echo through the small office. Thoughts hurried through his mind rapid-fire, trying to figure out who could be calling him so late after work hours. It could be another client, but, then, why would they be calling so late? Perhaps it was Gordon, again. Calling to make another weak attempt to get him to divulge everything he knew about the last few months. Maybe it was Harley Quinn, but that wouldn’t make sense. She never called, she just showed up unannounced. Maybe it was the Bat -- now, that would be funny. He took a breath and flipped the handset up to his ear. “E.Nigma Investigations, this is Nigma,” he said in his exemplary professional tone. He noticed it was rougher than usual; he needed to stop smoking so much.

There was a pause on the other end, then came a familiar voice he had been expecting to hear for the last few weeks. Only he’d thought it’d be one he heard in a dark alley one night, accompanied by the loud  _ blam! _ from a Colt.

“Welp, there he is! Ey’ Nigma. Hope I’m not callin’ ya too late.” It was Vito Cappetta, the Penguin’s loyal yes-man. Instinct kicked in, and Edward’s posture straightened. 

“Hey, nice to hear that Pointe accent of yours again.” Edward lied. “No inconvenience here, my friend. I was just finishing up with a case file, what can I do for you this evening?” 

“Ah, yeah. The detective business, how’s that workin’ out?” Vito asked.

“Swimmingly,” Edward lied again. 

“Y’know, when I heard about yer change in business, I said ta myself ‘Now that’s a smooth move. Smartest guy I ever knew! He’ll make a killin’ in that line a work.’ Glad ta hear it's workin’ out for ya.”

“I appreciate your vote of confidence. If you ever need help finding another wife, ring me. I’ll give you a discount.” 

Vito laughed at that, and said something in response, but Edward wasn’t paying attention. He was thinking again.  _ Play it cool, _ he thought,  _ don’t let on how nervous you are. You’ve played this game a hundred times before, you can win it like you always do. Just play it cool _ .

“So, ya got any dinner plans this evenin’?” Vito asked.

“I was about to jump down to Ma’s before they closed up shop for the day. Why the inquiry?” Edward asked. He cursed himself, that’d sounded a little too suspicious. 

He heard Vito sigh, and the sound made Edward’s nerves crackle in alarm. It was never a good sign when Vito sounded reluctant. 

“It's the boss,” Vito said finally. “He’s noticed he hasn’t seen ya out and about. Ya didn’t show up to the party a couple of weeks ago, down at My Alibi. I’ve been tellin’ him yer probably workin’ too hard. But, ya know how he gets. Thinks ya should get out more, see the city, relax a bit, ya get me?” 

Edward felt his body stiffen again. “There was a party at My Alibi? And not one of you invited me? I’m insulted.”

Vito laughed again. “Didn’t used to have to invite you, ol’ boy. You just knew!”

“I suppose that’s just another deviation we’ll all have to get used to,” Edward said.

“I suppose.” Vito paused after that, and Edward could tell they were doing the dance. It was a dance he was used to when it came to the Penguin: never saying what they mean, twisting words and expecting the other to find the true intentions within them, veiled threats. He felt the lump in his throat ease as he found himself in the familiar territory. He always did enjoy this game. 

“Boss wants to extend a personal invitation to the lounge this evening." Vito stated.

_ There it is _ , Edward thought. He knew Oswald wouldn’t have his right-hand man call just to check in on him. He’d already had his goons watching Edward on the streets whenever he went out. It was unnerving, but also rather insulting. 

“Does he?” Edward asked.

“Yup, thinks it’d be good for you to have a night out on the town. Everything’s on the house.”

“How generous of him.” Edward tried his best to make that sound genuine. “Can I expect a neat Mortlach when I arrive?”

Vito laughed, “Of course, I’ll have ‘em have that ready for you. When should he expect you?”

Edward’s eyes darted to his watch. “About… thirty minutes from now.”

“He can have a car sent to you if ya want? You are a guest tonight, after all.” Vito asked.

_ Really? _ Edward thought.  _ He can’t honestly think I’d fall for that one. _ “No, that’s fine. I’ll take the train.”

“If yer sure. I’ll let him know, and ya might wanna bring an umbrella. Looks like it might rain again tonight,” Vito said, and Edward could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’m sure if I forget mine Oswald will provide one for me,” Edward joked, and Vito laughed again. They exchanged swift goodbyes, and Edward put the handset back onto the receiver.

He stared at the phone for a few minutes, running over the possible outcomes of this meeting in his mind. Edward knew that Oswald wasn’t being generous. He never asked you to come to the Iceberg Lounge out of the kindness of his heart. He wanted something, and Edward feared what that something might be.

Oswald now controlled most of the territory and trades in the city. Whatever he might want from Edward certainly wasn’t going to be in the determined to be  _ ex _ -criminal’s best interests. The most obvious answer would be that Oswald was luring him into a trap to cut him down. But he doubted Oswald would be so naive to think he’d fall for it.

_ No _ , he thought.  _ Don’t think too deep, that’s what gets you in trouble, Ed. Just go and see what he wants.  _ He stood up and threw on his jacket and hat. Grabbing his coat, he pocketed his cigarettes and opened the small drawer on his desk. He eyed the switchblade within and pocketed that as well. He wished it was a gun, but the conditions of his release wouldn’t allow him near firearms. But, the idea of meeting with Cobblepot unarmed made him very uneasy.  _ It’s alright, I’m quicker than him _ , he reminded himself.

He locked the office door as he left and remembered the trains in the slums didn’t run consistently anymore. It appeared that the city was in no rush to fix the issue, either. He was going to have to take a shortcut. He hurried into a back alley and began his trek into the night.. All that relaxation he’d worked hard to achieve this evening had gone, and he could feel his muscles stiffening as he walked. That wasn’t too out of the ordinary; sometimes they would get so strained he thought he’d pull something, most likely doing some mundane activity. He wondered if he’d always been this uptight, but had just never noticed before. At least his leg wasn’t giving him much trouble today. He thought that jumping out of the apartment window would have caused it to ache. He would’ve hated showing up with his cane for his first appearance back at the lounge.

As he maneuvered the maze of city streets, alleys, and canals, he pondered what Cobblepot could want with him. He hoped it wasn’t the obvious; Oswald had never been as foolish as the rest. Edward didn’t want to end up on the wrong side with the Penguin. The two had had a good working relationship during his time as the Riddler -- as good as two conniving criminals could have, that is. It helped, too, that Edward had always enjoyed Oswald’s mind games. The man was very skilled with them, and they always kept Edward on his toes. He assumed his appreciation for it was why, over time, Oswald had developed a modest trust for him.

Oswald, like himself, prefered predictability. Through all the years Edward had never been foolish enough to truly finagle him. He would only finesse situations for a better outcome that served his own self-interests. He’d always assumed Oswald respected that, even though it sometimes got on his nerves. The two had formed an unspoken alliance. Both of them knew it despite never discussing it outright, and they were both skilled at keeping it just between them. Edward had always enjoyed that. It was respectable, and he appreciated Oswald for having the prowess to agree without ever voicing it. He had to admit it was smart for both of them, and it was nice while it lasted.

But now, things were different. Edward had turned his back on the Gotham underground without explanation and was attempting to enter civilian life. He knew that was going to raise some eyebrows in the criminal world, but he wasn’t too worried about most of them. Plenty of people had tried to kill him before -- he’d lost count of how many -- and none ever got close to finishing the job. Oswald, on the other hand, was smart and cunning. Edward had seen the brutality the man was capable of. Not in person, but he’d seen the aftermath and heard the stories from those who were there. You never wanted to be someone the Penguin wanted dead, it was one of the realities of Gotham City. The real issue was that Oswald allowed him to get close, and he rarely extended that courtesy to anyone. Edward knew too much, and his new career path was dangerous for Oswald. Edward had no intentions of telling anyone Oswald’s secrets. He found any implication of him doing so offensive, but he knew Oswald had no reason to believe that he wouldn’t.  _ If the shoe was on the other foot _ , his thoughts snuck in,  _ you’d get rid of him too. It only makes sense _ . 

Edward suddenly remembered Theo -- “Eagle Eyes,” some called him. He was Oswald’s closest henchman, his second, the only person who ever truly knew the man. They were inseparable, and then Oswald killed him, shot him right in the heart, and watched him die. The others that were there said he gave no explanation, and it was a subject they avoided speaking about. Edward had his theories about why he did it, but none of them bode well for his current predicament. He decided that if Cobblepot was going to try to kill him, he was willing to put up a fight. But maybe Oswald wanted to hire him. Edward was always good at hiding money, and now Oswald had more than enough that he needed hidden. Being the King of Gotham had its perks, but it was a risky business. Edward hoped he would be able to turn down any offer of work, and that he could finesse it enough so as not to ruffle any of Oswald’s feathers.

He hoisted himself over a small fence and hurried up a secluded staircase. Emerging onto the streets above, he checked the street signs. The sleeker, paved roads instead of dirty cobblestones were proof enough that he hadn’t taken the incorrect route. He hadn’t been to this part of the city since the rebuilding efforts began, and now it looked off somehow. As if shadows didn’t hit the buildings right. He noticed a spontaneous row of foreign buildings, one of the sidewalks that now curved in a different direction, and a burned-out skeleton of a destroyed building. Spotting the burnt husk, Edward’s mind began to rush with memories of Hattie’s old apartment building and the second building fire in Burnley. For a second, he wondered if this was the remains of another mysterious fire, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. This one looked old, derelict, a shell waiting to be torn down and replaced by something slick and new. As he headed in the direction of the Lounge, Edward felt like the city was trying to paint over the bloodstains with cheap sparkling paint. There had been a time when he would do something similar, and the irony of his distaste for it wasn’t lost on him. 

Looking across the street to the lavish building, Edward took a deep breath of the chilly air. This place used to be a pleasure to arrive at. The late-night dealings were always enjoyable, and rubbing elbows with the guests had always been a fun game. Now he felt like he was looking at a ghost. It looked as if its shine had worn off, like a tarnished piece of silver. He walked across the street and was surprised that the doormen jostled the other guests aside to allow him entry. They bowed, greeted him politely,  and expressed mild delight at seeing him again.  Inside, his senses were rushed with the sounds of music and the good-humored chatter of the guests. He only had a moment to process the environment before a couple of large men in suits escorted him down the hidden hallway to his right. It was the hall away from the crowds, where only the elite or the doomed were allowed access. He rode the elevator up, giving the operator a curt nod as he exited to the floor where Penguin’s office was.  Upon his exit, however, the whole aura had changed. A hand appeared from the side in front of him and pressed against his chest, its owner revealed as the door's slid open. Th e man's glare stopped him in his tracks, and his insistent push sent Edward off-balance.

“Hands up,” the man said. 

Edward was taken aback, “-the hell?” The man locked eyes with him, and Edward saw nothing but hostility. 

“Hands up,” he said again, this time much slower, and stern. Edward raised his arms out to his sides, but he could feel his indignation was showing on his face. He’d never been frisked meeting Oswald before, and back then he was a dangerous criminal.  _ You’re an outsider now, Ed _ , his mind toyed with him,  _ you don’t get the same respect as you once did _ . The knife in his inside jacket pocket flashed in his mind, and he felt a brief wave of anxiety. But just as the thought had formed, another man walked up behind the first. He looked at the scene, and Edward saw recognition as their eyes met. He leaned down to the first, and Edward heard a muffled “Whaddya doin?”

The first looked to the second, started with “He-” but was cut off as the second shook his head. The two stared at each other, having some intense silent disagreement, until, finally, the first relented and stepped aside. The second man smiled and gestured for Edward to follow him. Edward hurried past the first and continued down the hall, adjusting his coat as he went. The second man wasn’t one he recognized, but he seemed to have a clearer idea of the proper etiquette for the situation. 

“Sorry about him,” the man began, “takes his job a little too seriously.”

“Understandable, we’re all on edge lately,” Edward muttered. 

“No hard feelings then?” 

Edward found that question surprising, it sounded as if the man was asking for no retaliation on his end. Perhaps he did still garner some respect in this world. “None, my good man. He’s just doing his job,” Edward replied, getting a gentle nod in response from the man. The two headed down the narrow hall together to Cobblepot’s office, and Edward had to move behind the man as they drew closer to the door. A sudden memory came to Edward: he remembered that Oswald always called this narrow hall the funnel, “ _ so you can funnel everyone into a firing line.”  _ The lump in his throat was back now. He watched as Penguin’s man opened the door to an empty office and motioned for Edward to step inside.

“He’s busy right now, but have a seat, and he’ll be right in. Still craving that Mortlach?” the man asked.

Edward nodded as he took off his coat, then he watched the man nod in return and leave. He sat down in one of the chairs across from the desk and noted that the office was much less cluttered than usual. Oswald was normally the type to show off his achievements. He’d always decorated his dwellings with expensive rugs and rare art pieces. Even though the flavor was still there, the purples and blues still present, it felt much starker than before. Gone were the embellishments in favor of expensive, heavy furniture, and an empty desk supporting only a crystal decanter set.  _ He doesn’t have to boast anymore, he’s already won it all, _ Edward thought.  _ Must be nice _ . 

The door to his left opened, and he heard the familiar shuffling footsteps of Oswald entering the room. As he walked over and sat down behind the desk, Edward gave him a quick look over, making a mental note to not look too long. Oswald had always been sensitive about intrusive stares. He was wearing an expensive three-piece pinstripe suit, not one that Ed had seen before but similar enough for it not to be of note. But the man underneath the suit looked much different. Older somehow, and thinner than before, but not in a healthy way. There were more lines on his face, especially around his eyes. He sported a long scar down his left cheek, a few more small ones were scattered across his face. His skin was looser around his cheeks as well. And as Edward looked into his eyes, their fierceness was more intense than he’d remembered. 

“Good evening, Edward.” Oswald spoke. His voice was chilly and unnerving.

“Evening, Cobblepot,” Edward responded. He knew that Oswald liked his heritage to be respected, and he needed any extra points he could get.

“You look… thin,” Oswald said, giving him a quick look over. “Haven’t been able to put any weight back on yet, I take it? It's to be expected I suppose. Considering the circumstances, and your current state of comfort.” 

Edward grinned. “It's called  _ poverty _ , Mr. Cobblepot. We can’t all live in castles. Not when you’re snatching them all up for yourself.”

Oswald returned his smile. “I had a feeling you were still keeping your ears to the ground. You always were a sponge of useful information. Though I wasn’t sure how fast information traveled out to… where are you staying again? Near the West Side, isn’t it?”

“You could say that it's close enough,” Edward said.  _ Here comes the dance again _ , he thought. 

Oswald pulled a cigar out of his suit jacket, and the door behind Edward opened. A man wearing a sleek suit and bowtie placed down a napkin and slid Edward his drink. 

Oswald blew out a large plume of smoke. “Is that hesitation I sense, Edward? Come now, I don’t think telling me what district you’re staying in is too personal.” 

“It's hardly a secret, it’d just be a waste of time discussing it. I don’t intend to be living there for an extended length of time,” Edward said, picking up his glass. He hovered it under his nose, letting the smell hit his nostrils. It brought back memories of simpler days. 

As the lounge worker exited the room, Oswald leaned back in his large chair. “Comfortable?” he asked, but before Edward could answer he continued. “Good. Edward, I asked you here this evening because we have an issue that has to be dealt with. Well,  _ you  _ have an issue, to be more precise.”

“Do I?” Edward felt his posture straighten again, and he took a deep gulp from his drink.

“You might want to hold onto that,” Oswald said as he raised his hand casually. “At least for a while longer.”

Those words disturbed Edward, and Oswald read this on his face. 

“Come, I’ll show you,” he stood and motioned for Edward to follow him as he made his way to the door on Edward’s right. Edward knew where this door went; it led to Oswald’s private balcony in the lounge. As he followed him, he made sure to keep his pace with Oswald’s. The man could get rather sensitive if others outpaced him.  _ I doubt he’s going to kill you in front of all those people _ , Edward thought, but those two words kept ringing in his ears: “ _ your issue _ .” That was foreboding, and a sign that this wasn’t setting up for a positive evening. 

As they reached the balcony, Oswald moved aside, giving Edward a clear view of the lounge floor below. It was crowded, as usual. The large band on the stage was playing a slow, jazzy musical number, and the vapor from the ice sculpture centerpiece was frothing up past the balcony railing. It all looked rather standard for the establishment, despite the new furnishings and decor. Then Oswald motioned to one of the many bars toward the back, leaning closer to Edward to speak over the noise. 

“There, your issue.”

As he processed the scene, Edward could feel his eyes widening. He'd hoped to keep his composure in Oswald’s presence, but he hadn’t expected this at all. Sitting at the bar was one very intoxicated Harley Quinn. She was dramatically fanning herself with a napkin, cackling like a wild woman, and flirting sloppily with the bartender. The other guests around her were staring, many looking like they were on the verge of killing her right then and there. It was clear to him that Oswald had told them not to.  _ Why else would she still be alive? _

Edward felt the short man lean in to speak again. “She showed up about an hour ago. My assumption is she was escorted out of another establishment and came here. She hasn’t paid for anything, and has really been making quite a scene.”

Edward let out a frustrated sigh. Oswald’s more sinister tone rang in his left ear. “I know the police have been in contact with you, Edward,” he held up a hand to silence Edward’s objection, “I also know you haven’t told them anything. Another thing I know is that you have been spending quite a lot of time with Ms. Quinn over there.” Edward’s eyes sought Oswald’s, trying to read his intentions with all this showmanship, but Oswald rarely revealed any tells. This was getting frustrating. Then Oswald rested a hand on his shoulder, further invading his space. It made Edward’s stomach churn. 

“Calm down, Edward. I haven’t forgotten about the harbor,” Oswald said, his tone calmer. 

The word struck Edward like a lightning bolt, and his shoulders slumped as he felt the tightness in his muscles finally let go.  _ The harbor _ , he remembered.  _ Damn it, the harbor! How could you forget that?  _ The memories came flooding back; it was almost a year ago now. The tall orders, the blue boys’ stranglehold on the docks, and the Bat had come up with some new battle strategy or ridiculous contraption that made it impossible to smuggle in goods from outside the city. It was a complex puzzle, and Oswald needed the puzzle solved, but Edward thought the job was too risky. There was too much heat involved, and Edward was already preoccupied with some huge theatrical plan of his own at the time. He’d gotten a large sum of money for it. But Oswald had sweetened the deal by ensuring him that at any point he needed it, he would owe Edward a favor. He looked deeper into Oswald’s eyes, chastising himself for forgetting and perhaps tipping Copplepot off to his unease. 

Oswald moved to a more respectable distance. “I’ll give you five minutes to get her out of here, before I set the hounds loose.”

Edward’s temper flared. “FIVE minutes? That’s the favor?!”

Oswald’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the outburst, but Edward noticed a tiny smile cross his lips. “Would you prefer eight?” he asked.

“Much preferred.” Edward downed the rest of his drink, setting the glass down on one of the tables. He pulled his coat back on and turned to leave the way they’d come. He heard Oswald’s voice call out behind him, “I’ll see you around, Edward. I do wish you good luck.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you next time you’re in the West Side, Oswald,” Edward said, and he heard the faintest chuckle in response. 

Hurrying back through the office, Edward’s mind was racing. How was he going to do this? He was skilled at manipulating those around him to do what he wanted, but Harley was different. She was more emotional, and didn’t like her ‘fun’ to be interrupted. He needed to get her out of here, he needed her alive, and he had to get her far enough from the building before the others could follow. Calculating the time, he knew that eight minutes wasn’t enough.


	4. Episode 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harley Quinn’s life is in danger, and she doesn’t seem to realize it. Thankfully, her bizarre new friendship with Edward might be able to save her.

**Episode 4**

_A Not-So-Clean Slate_

He watched the gate of the elevator as it descended, absentmindedly working on the muscle knots in his palms. As he swayed from foot to foot, his mind ran through all his possible options, until the operator opened the door, and he hurried out into the hall and back to the main entrance, zig-zagging between the guests as he went. Edward knew there were faster back routes in the lounge, but he didn’t want to chance it. Considering how Penguin’s security had treated him, he figured he’d get stopped by at least one guard. He couldn’t risk it; he didn’t have the time. 

He felt a brief stab of embarrassment as he realized his attire. He noticed a few odious glances as he passed, though most turned to shock or fear after they’d seen his face. Because of his shoe-string budget, he hadn’t had the money to get anything but cheap, used suits, and he’d forgotten he was wearing his least favorite one this evening: the grey one. He didn’t have an iron, and he didn’t have the money to get them laundered -- he must look like a wreck. His theory was confirmed when he pushed past a posh-looking couple and heard one of them say his name in shocked puzzlement. 

He could feel his temper rising as he weaved around the people in the crowd. He was playing a rigged game, one specifically set up to make him fail in front of everyone. Penguin was covering himself from all sides. He was trying to get his way and make it look like he hadn’t gone to bat for anyone, but he didn’t intend for Edward to succeed. Oswald was using the situation for his own benefit, as usual. Edward wanted to beat this game to show them all that he hadn’t lost his touch. He didn't have to be the Riddler, he didn’t need his money or his connections. He could beat them just being a lowly citizen living in the slums. The indignation of it all made his pulse quicken.

He stopped at the large ice sculpture in the middle of the lounge, his eyes zeroing in on the bar near the back where he heard Quinn’s familiar laughter. His brain felt like it was shocked back to life, and the rush was a welcome one. His feet began to move. He had to figure out how to get Harley to leave with him, and to leave quickly. And he had to do it carefully. Her mood swings could be dangerous, and she didn’t like feeling threatened. He pushed his way closer to the bar, ignoring the few stares he received, until, finally, he emerged behind her, silent as a whisper. The other guests around her took notice of his presence immediately. On Harley’s right, one woman narrowed her eyes, recognizing him. He felt like he had a giant, blaring spotlight on him. It was as if all of them were waiting to see what he would do, waiting to see if he was there as savior or traitor. 

“Hi, Harley!” Edward said in the chipperest of voices he could muster.

Harley turned around, her face bursting into a wide smile. “Eddie!” she shrieked joyfully, pulling him into a tight hug. Edward tried not to show his distaste for the embrace. She lost her balance on the stool she was perched on, and Edward moved closer to keep her on her feet. 

“I didn’t know you were here!” Harley squealed. Her voice was so loud it hurt his ears. “I can’t believe it, big bad Eddie showin’ up in a dump like this! I want ya ta meet my new friend --” she started and turned back to the bartender, but Edward wasn’t listening. He had her now, but they were still surrounded by vipers. A few of them were watching him closer than before, clearly unsure about their interaction and his intentions.

“So, kid,” Edward cut her off, “what’re you doing in a dump like this?”

Harley laughed. “Gettin’ bored in this joint! No one here has a sense a humor, Eds! Oooh, come sit with me! Move it, sister!” she hollered to the woman seated next to her, the one who’d glared at Edward on his arrival. 

Edward grabbed Harley’s arm, turning her back to face him. “I was actually about to leave, I just came over to say hello.” The disappointed look on her face pleased him. 

“No! Ya can’t leave, not now!” She pulled him tighter to her, whining like a child. “C’mon Eds, everyone here is a bunch of wet socks.” 

“I can’t stay, unfortunately, Ms. Quinn. I’m headed over to the Stacked Deck. There’s some get together with the old crew going on,” Edward lied, and he hoped it sounded convincing.

Harley’s eyes widened into saucers, her face twisting into another wide smile. “I wanna come! Is Ricky gonna be there?! I love Ricky! That thing he does when he’s canned is so funny! Y’know, when he pulls --”

Edward cut her off. “I think Ricky is gonna be there. Last I heard, what’s left of Roman’s old crew put the whole thing together.” He watched her closely as she grabbed her coat and hat. She wrapped an arm around his and threw her other arm in the air, “Let’s git outta here, Eds!” 

He hated when she called him that, but at least he’d gotten what he’d wanted. He flashed her a charming smile and tilted his hat in agreement, triggering a bark of laughter from Harley. He noted the glares directed toward him as he began shuffling her through the crowd. Harley began prattling off on some story about how awful her night had been, but Edward wasn’t listening. He was too focused on quickening their pace without tipping her off about any potential danger. He was taking note of all the patrons who were beginning to follow them. He counted about five, but they seemed to be trying to hide their intent. A few walked closer to the exit and began to mingle with the guests already stationed there, but the others simply blended in with the crowd to watch the two leave. 

Edward began plotting their route for when they were out and on the street. But his mind was jerked from those thoughts by the sensation that he was being watched, and by something more dangerous than the guests in the lounge. His eyes darted upward to Oswald’s private balcony. The chubby man was still perched there, puffing on his cigar and grinning widely down at him. He couldn’t tell if his expression meant he was amused, or impressed. Either way, Edward gave him a smug grin as if to say, Nice try, but I win. He could see Oswald chuckle at that, then he tucked his hand into his vest pocket, pulling out his pocket watch. Glancing at it, he tapped its face to indicate that Edward better hurry, though his own face still held that unreadable expression. This was why Edward preferred to be on Oswald’s good side. When he wanted to, the man could make you feel like you were desperately trying to keep your head above water. 

As they got closer to the door, Edward began to abandon the facade, and he quickened his pace. At this point, he was practically dragging Harley along with him. Thankfully, she still seemed to think this was some sort of game, and even began skipping happily along with him. Getting to the door, he hurried her out, ignoring the doormen as they bid them good night. 

Harley hopped up beside him and draped an arm around his shoulders. “This is gonna be so much fun! I haven’t seen the Sionis crew in so long!”

“Yeah, it's going to be a blast.” Edward bluntly agreed, still trying to keep his pace with Harley’s weight on his shoulder. He looked over his free shoulder and watched the lounge entrance. Two figures emerged and began to stroll in their direction. 

“Did you know he died?!” Harley blurted out.

“Who? Roman?” Edward asked, rolling his eyes as Harley nodded. “Everyone knows Roman is dead, Harley.” 

“It was messed up what they did to him...” Harley said, her voice trailing off a bit.

“Yeah, real ‘messed up.’ Just drop it, alright?” Grabbing her arm, he began pulling her across the street, dodging cars as they went. Harley’s good mood seemed to have waned. He could hear her protesting about the treatment, but he didn’t have time to explain. She wouldn’t take it seriously even if he did. They took a sharp turn into an alley where Harley’s loud protests bounced off the narrow space between the buildings, and then he felt her jerk her hand away from him. 

He turned to her, noticing her flushed cheeks and angry eyes. He pulled her closer to him and kept his voice low, “We’re being followed. Don’t look --” he said as she was about to turn her head. “We’ve gotta keep quiet, alright? We’re going to take a secret route, okay?” Her eyes beamed at the word "secret", making him smile as he continued. “We don’t want them to hear us. If we want to get to the Deck on time, we gotta lose them.”

Harley smiled, holding her finger to her mouth, “Uh-huh, shh!” 

“Good girl, c’mon,” he said, and he turned to continue down the alley, thankful he no longer had to tug her along. 

Edward led her through a more complicated short cut than he’d used to get there. The route had them climbing over walls, through some back gardens, and eventually led them to one of the canals. Harley had originally found the route fun, and he’d had to calm her down a few times as they walked. But, then, the drinks began to hit her. She started to find it harder to focus on what they were doing. She kept getting tired and wanting to sit down, or forgetting that they were supposed to be silent. It was all becoming a mess. As they arrived at the canal, Edward leaned Harley against the wall to keep her out of view and looked down the way they’d come. He couldn’t hear anything; it was mostly silent, aside from the normal city noise. Perhaps they’d gotten far enough before the time limit. 

Then, something caught his eye. He’d seen it in his peripheral vision. Something dark, fluttering on one of the rooftops. He turned his head in its direction, but the rooftop was vacant. He eyed the darkness closer as a pit began to grow in his stomach. In this city, that was never something you wanted to see this late at night. He watched the roof closely, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Nothing that could’ve tricked his eye. The absence of a threat made his nerves fire with apprehension, but then, his thoughts crept in. It’s not him. Ignore it, and keep moving. 

Harley’s annoyed voice brought his mind back to the canal, and he looked over to her, letting out a heavy sigh as he did. She was still slumped against the wall, looking exhausted, with her bare knees covered in grime. “How much longer, Ed? My legs are killin’ me!” she whined. 

He shushed her, getting a groan in response. “We’re almost there. Think you can make it the rest of the way?” At this point he’d be surprised if she even remembered what their destination was.

Harley groaned uncomfortably again, but nodded. They truly didn’t have much farther to go, and he avoided the more strenuous routes for the rest of the trip. At some point during the walk, Harley removed her shoes, prompting Edward to have to carry her on his back for a time since she refused to put them back on. By the time they got back to his office, they were both exhausted. Edward could feel his body’s anger at the night's rapid activity. He hadn’t eaten well for the last week, and he had exerted too much energy this evening after his lack of sleep. 

Unlocking the door, he hurried inside to the small kitchenette area. He turned on the faucet and began to gulp water from the tap. The sound of Harley stumbling through the door caught his attention, and he thought he heard her flop onto his couch. Finishing his drink, he grabbed one of the few cups he had and filled it with water. He walked to the couch and shoved the cup into Harley’s vision, walking away as she began to hurriedly drink. 

Sitting down in his office chair, he pulled his bottle of whiskey from the desk drawer and didn’t even bother with the glass. He took a deep gulp straight from the bottle and grunted before resting it back on the wood. The full weight of the evening’s events was hitting him like a truck. He scowled down at his desk as his brain reviewed the circumstances. Eventually, his attention moved back to the couch, where Harley sat, looking confused. Her eyes were flicking around the room, he felt like he could hear the slow, rusted gears trying to turn in her head.

“Where are we?” Harley asked, her voice soft and tired.

“My office. Rest for a while, then get the hell off my couch.” Edward ordered, taking another chug of his whiskey.

Harley’s eyes fixated on him, and her cheeks flushed more. He decided to speak before she could rile herself up too much. “Harley, you’re sitting where I sleep. You can sleep in the chair, though there’s always the floor if you’d prefer.”

He saw her eye twitch. He knew she didn’t like it when he talked to her like she was a disobedient child, but he was too tired to care. “Look, I was already worn-out and then I had to go save you from getting yourself killed. You’re lucky I even brought you here, I could’ve left you out there on the canal. Sober up, sleep, and we’ll talk about it in the morning. Maybe. If I feel like it.” He plucked his cigarettes out of his coat pocket as he slid it off and tossed it to the floor. Maybe Harley would need it if she slept there. 

He barely saw her move, but he did see something flying in his direction and ducked. A stack of newspapers hit the wall behind him, fanning out as they collided with the plaster, and floated to the ground. He looked at her, shocked; Harley had stood up now and was glaring at him with intense eyes. 

“Listen, pal! Dun’ talk to me like that, ya got it?! I’m not some dish ya take home and throw on the floor!” she screamed, her anger rising with every word. He’d struck a nerve, and he wasn’t even trying to. She hoisted her fists to her hips, much more stable on her feet now, “An’ you didn’t save me! Save me from what? All ya did was lie to me, played me like a mark! All ya did was make me look stupid! All ya did was make my night worse!” 

“Oh, are the memories finally coming back?” Edward asked sarcastically. “Since the haze of alcohol is wearing off, tell me how you ended up wandering into the Iceberg Lounge. Explain the genius logic behind that decision. Explain how that was supposed to do anything for you this evening except get you killed.” He was standing now, both of his hands resting on the desktop. 

“Don’t patronize me, Ed!” Harley yelled, but he could see that she was confused by what he’d implied. 

“Harley, you wandered into a club full of gangsters tonight --” Edward began.

“So what?!” Harley hollered over him.

“-- and you were completely smoked. You drunkenly walked into a building full of people who want you dead.” Edward watched as her confused expression became more pronounced.

“N-no they don’t… yer just trying to play me again. Why would they want me dead? I haven’t done anything since I’ve been out!”

Edward sighed and hung his head, clearly exasperated by the argument. Harley groaned loudly. “I thought we were all operating on a clean slate now! That’s what everyone agreed on!”

“Yes, Harley. Most people did agree to that.” Edward took another chug of his whiskey. “But there are exceptions.”

“Of course! But I’m not one of --”

“Yes, you are. You are one of them.” Edward said sternly. He hoped that would be enough for her, that maybe that would end the argument and she’d understand her close call. But Harley merely laughed and gave him a smug grin. It made Edward’s temper rise even more. She truly was infuriating.

“Why would I be an exception, Ed? Besides, Ossie was there. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt me, he doesn’t want me dead.”

Edward let out a deep sigh. He was trying to keep his composure, but it was becoming very difficult. “No, I’m sure Oswald doesn’t want you dead. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t throw you to wolves if he got something out of it.”

The confused look on her face was becoming overly irritating. Harley chuckled, still not grasping the sincerity in his words. “Ossie wouldn’t do that, he’s always been nice ta me…” Her voice trailed off as she contemplated what he’d said. She let out a breath and gave him a knowing smile. “Eddie, I think ya might be being a tad bit paranoid.”

The implication took him by surprise, and, now, he was the one looking confused. Harley laughed, waving her hand at him casually. “Don’t get me wrong, it's kinda sweet that ya were so worried about me! But I think all this stress is gettin’ to ya.” 

Edward felt like his blood was boiling. Any hope of keeping his composure evaporated, and he slammed his fist down on the desktop. “Goddamn it, Harley! How do you not understand all of this?! How is this such a complicated subject for you!? I knew you were stupid, but if I knew you were this idiotic I wouldn’t have gotten involved with you at all!”

The slam! from his fist made Harley jump, but her anger returned in fervor. She took a long step closer to him, punching a fist close to his face, and glared into his eyes. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that ever again --”

“No, you’re going to shut your mouth and listen to me!” Edward howled, looming over her and prodding her on the shoulder with his finger. This appeared to surprise her, but Edward was too angry to back down now. He was tired of Harley’s aloof attitude toward her predicament and everything it’d cost him this evening. “Harley, apparently you haven’t noticed that you aren't well liked in this city. That damn ex of yours fucked over too many people this time.” He saw her pupils sharpen into pin-points at the mention of the clown, and he persisted with the attack. “Yeah, remember him? The most hated man in this whole damn city? The man that most of the people in that club would sell out their own mothers to get their hands on?” He saw pain flash in her eyes. It made his temper rage even more. “I know you hate him now, but I can guarantee you that your hatred is nothing compared to what those other crooks feel. He can’t just run off to save his own skin and not suffer the consequences. Hell, he threw you to those assholes so he could escape! And do you have any idea how many more people suffered in his place?”

“Don’t bring him up.” There was a hint of warning in her voice, but he could hear the hurt within it as well.

“No, Harley. You're prancing around the city like nothing’s changed! And everything has changed! No one knows where he is, so no one can get their hands on him. Every criminal in this city wants to strangle the life out of him, and they can’t.” Edward huffed, snatching his cigarettes out of his coat pocket and lighting one. “But, you know who they can get their hands on? You.” Letting out a puff of smoke, he continued. “They can definitely strangle the life out of you, Harley. Especially when you’re drunk, and wandering around with your head in the clouds!” Edward yelled, gesturing to the sky. He took a deep drag on his snipe, glaring at her from across the desk. “Do you have any idea how many people have gotten angry with me because they heard you and I were communicating in Arkham? They think I should've completely black-listed you, like the others did. Do you have any idea what you did tonight? Any idea that you almost gave the Joker exactly what he wants? Any idea, or worry at all, about what you cost me tonight?” 

Harley’s cheeks were flushed, her fists shaking at her sides. Edward had a feeling that, any minute now, she was going to punch him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “This is the final joke he was going to play on you, Harley. He doesn’t expect you to survive any of this. He thinks you’re too stupid -- too incompetent to have even a modicum of success without him. And you almost proved him right tonight.” 

“Stop talking about him!” Harley shrieked.

Edward frowned and leaned across the desk toward her, his voice finally lowering. “Do you realize the only reason you’re alive right now is because Oswald owed me a favor?”

Harley’s face switched from anger and pain to shock. Finally, she was listening to him. “Yeah. He owed me a favor. The only reason I was there was because he called me. He gave me a chance to get you out of the lounge before anyone could get their hands on you. Think about it, Harley. You showed up there about an hour before I arrived. That means Oswald was contemplating what to do with you for twenty-three minutes before he called me.” 

Fear crept across her face, followed by recognition, and her eyes lowered to the floor. Edward leaned in closer, “Do you think I wanted to use up that favor for something as childish as this? It would’ve been really nice to have that card in my hand. You know, to save my own skin down the line.” Harley was still staring at the floor, her eyes hidden behind the brim of her hat. He took another chug from the bottle on his desk. “As far as you're concerned, I'm the only person in this city that's looking out for you. And I'm not a damn super-criminal anymore. I don't carry the same weight as I did, and I can't pull the strings like I used to. If Oswald decided to sell you out to someone he was trying to garner favor with, I couldn't do anything to stop him. Remember that the next time you want to be a drunk idiot.” He set the bottle down and took another deep drag from his cigarette. “Well? Say something. At least thank me for saving you. Something!” 

Harley slowly raised her head. As their eyes met, Edward saw the redness on her face, and the sight of her glossy eyes made him deflate. “Oh God, please, do not start crying.”

But she already had. She took a few steps backward and flopped back onto the couch, crying into her coat sleeve. Edward closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. He was going to have to try an alternate approach, or he was never going to get any sleep tonight. Sliding out from behind the desk, bottle in hand, he made his way over to sit beside her on the couch. They sat in silence for a few moments. Harley continued to cry, periodically sniffling, while Edward took small sips from the whiskey bottle. Finally, Harley spoke, and her voice was strained and small. “I… I just, feel so, so stupid,” she said between tiny sobs. 

“That’s because you are st -- are being stupid,” Edward quickly caught himself. He looked over to her as she cried, and he handed her his cigarette pack. She took one out and he lit it for her with a match. He watched as she relaxed on the couch; she did look exhausted. 

“Did you ever go back to the Funhouse?” He asked, breaking the silence. Harley nodded, a look of pain on her face. “I take it he took everything, then.” He frowned as she nodded again and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Taking one last, long drag on his cigarette, he snuffed it out in the ashtray on the desk. “Harley, I know you said you wanted to stick to the underworld, but you have to understand, I’m not in any position to help you.” He leaned back on the couch and took off his suit jacket before unbuttoning his vest. “I can give you some advice, here and there. But --”

“I know you wanna stay outta it, Ed,” Harley sniffled.

“Right. Listen, you have to be smarter about this. You don’t have the luxury of having all of this be just fun and games, not anymore. You don’t have Joker making all the plans, bossing you around, and doing all the dirty work. You’re going to have to keep your ear to the ground and your nose as clean as you can, at least at first.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he loosened his tie. “You’re a damn doctor Harley, start using those skills. You’ll be fine.” 

Harley blew out a puff of smoke and chuckled. “Yeah, that’ll come in handy when a load of crooks come gunning for me.”

“To be honest with you, not everyone’s after you. A lot of people are expecting him to show back up any day now, and some others think he’s already dead.” Edward said, pulling his tie out from under his shirt collar. 

“He might be dead…” Harley said quietly. It sounded almost as if she was hoping he’d agree with her.

“Harley, if someone got to him, they wouldn’t have kept it quiet. His head would’ve been on a spike in Gotham Square, they would’ve made sure everyone knew,” Edward said.

Harley took a final drag on her cigarette before following his lead and snuffing it out in the ashtray, “I know, I know, you’re right. Just let a girl dream a little, will ya?” Leaning back into the couch, she plopped her head onto his shoulder, and he resisted the urge to move away. “I’m sorry, Ed. I didn’t mean ta cause ya all this trouble.”

“Thanks, Harley. You just have to --” 

“I’m sorry I almost hit ya.” Harley said, cutting him off as she began to try to kick her boots off.

“You were getting close there for a moment.” Edward said and watched her attempts to wriggle her feet out of their confinement.

“Yeah, but you were being a jerk,” Harley flicked one of her boots to the floor, and then the other. “I’ll get off your bed now.”

“That’d be nice, I’d appreciate it.” Edward watched her stagger to her feet. She complained about the long walk once again, but Edward had made his way to the bathroom by then. He brushed his teeth, hung up his clothes on the bathroom door, and slipped into the pair of loose pants the asylum had provided him when he’d left. He trudged back to the main room and saw that Harley had propped herself up in the office chair. She was fast asleep already, snoring lightly, with her head propped on Edward’s coat. Flopping onto the couch he laid down and let out a deep sigh of relief as he felt the soft cushions against his sore back. He dozed off, and, though sometimes Harley’s snoring stirred him, he was so tired that it was easy to fall back into a much-needed sleep. 

Then came the thunder, and the light tapping sound of rain.


	5. Episode 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an emotionally charged night, Edward ends up having to deal with an equally emotionally charged day.

**Episode 5**

_Unproductive Behavior_

* * *

His mind was desperately trying to pull him back to sleep, but the loud ringing was making that a tough battle. He couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from, or why such a loud noise was filling the room, until he heard it stop. Then, he heard a sleepy “Hello? Whaddya want?” and the Brooklyn accent instantly jerked him back to the world. He rolled over on the couch and grabbed the phone cord with his long arm, yanking it toward him. He heard the phone hit the floor and felt the handset smack into his ribs, followed by a frustrated huff from Harley. He moved to sit up, fumbling with the handset in his sleepy state. “This is Nigma,” he said, reaching over and grabbing his glasses from the floor. 

There was a long pause on the other line. “Inmate 71170, this is officer Blue 334.” There was another pause. “You do remember that one of your restrictions of release is not to have overnight guests, correct?”

Edward frowned as he put his glasses on, “That’s not the situation, officer. I assure you.”

“Certainly sounds like it.” Edward was amazed that he was still capable of sounding completely dull, even in this situation.

“She’s a client of mine, and she needed a safe place to stay for the evening. That’s all.” Edward said, ruffling his hair as he tried to wake up. 

“Uh-huh,” there was another long pause. “Check-in.”

“I would like to reestablish my previous question --” Edward began.

“No.” the officer responded.

“What is the point of doing this every time? It's just the same answers, nothing has changed.” Edward said, watching as Harley pulled her boots on. Perplexed, yet hopeful, he watched as she pulled on her coat and left the office.

“Thought you had a client,” the officer said.

Edward let out a deep groan. “Fine! I’m still alive. And yes, I’m still living at 348 on Sprang Avenue. I have also made two whole dollars since the last time we spoke.”

There was another pause. “Good. Your appointment with Dr. Lewin is this morning at eleven.”

“Have a horrible day, officer,” Edward said, hanging up the phone. He hung his head and pressed it into his hands, and the moment he closed his eyes he felt as if he could immediately fall back to sleep. Instead, he forced himself to stand and wandered into the bathroom to begin his morning routine. He’d forgotten about his meeting the night before. But for the first time, he felt somewhat relieved about speaking with Dr. Lewin. So much had happened since his last visit, he decided it might be the best thing for him. Exiting the bathroom, he felt a rush of dread as he saw Harley coming back through the door, but that subsided when he saw now her arms were full of goods. She had the morning paper tucked under her arm, two coffees in one hand, and, upon seeing him, she held out two muffins. 

“Breakfast!” she chirped. He took one of the muffins, receiving a little pleased chittering sound in response, and she offered him the coffee she had balanced in her palm. Taking it, he watched as she expertly wrapped her hand around the cup she had balancing on her fingers and took a sip. 

“That’s a neat trick.” Edward said, motioning to her coffee. She beamed happily at the praise.

“It’s all about balance. You could do it easily. Yer hands are sure bigger than mine.” She bounced over to the desk and sat on the desktop, much to Edward’s annoyance. Sitting down at the desk, Edward took a large bite of the muffin and closed his eyes, enjoying the first honest meal he’d had in three days. He must’ve made some sort of noise, as when he opened his eyes, Harley was staring at him with an arched brow. 

“I’m tellin’ ya, Ed. This whole ‘playin’ it by the book’ life isn’t good for yer health,” she said, taking a few small bites of her own muffin. 

Edward ignored her and took a sip from his coffee before finishing off the rest of his breakfast. He let out a deep breath as he leaned back in his chair. “Thanks for that, thought I was going to be running around today with no food again.”

“What ya gotta do? Oh, do you have a case? Like those dicks in the motion pictures?” Harley asked, swinging her legs excitedly.

“No. I have to go to my appointment with my doctor.” Edward said, lighting up a cigarette.

“I didn’t know they made ya do that. This supervised release gig sounds like the pits. You still gotta do all the same junk, but without the bed and the free food. Eds, I’m tellin’ ya, not good for yer health.'' Harley hopped off the desk, grabbing her hat off the floor, when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door. 

The two froze, looking between each other and the door. Edward stood and made his way over to it. Harley moved to his side as he opened the door, peeking around his shoulder to see who it was. Standing on the landing was a small boy with an umbrella, his school books slung over one shoulder, a large bundle tucked under his other arm. He had a paper in his hand; his eyes scanned it, then looked up to the door number again.

“You Nigma?” The boy asked.

“Yes,” Edward said, giving the child a confused glare.

The boy nodded, tucked the paper into his jacket, and held up the bundle to Edward. “This is from my auntie, she said it, it was ‘a thank you for helping her’ is what she said.”

Edward looked to the bundle, and a waft of bread and bananas hit his nose. Reaching out, he took it and noticed it was warm. “I’m assuming your auntie is Donna Hattie?”

The boy shrugged. “Yeah, auntie Don.”

Harley chuckled at Edward’s side. “That’s cute!”

Edward smiled down to him, “Tell her I appreciate the thought.”

“Okay, I will. Have a good day, Mr. Nigma.” the boy said and began making his way back down the staircase.

“Have a good day at school!” Harley hollered, waving goodbye to him. The boy thanked her and bounced over the last few steps, then he hurried out the door to the street.

“Think I scared him,” Harley giggled as Edward closed the door. He began unwrapping the cloth swathes of the package.

“You were quite loud.”

“What is it?” Harley asked, peeking around his arm. She watched as he pulled back the cloth, revealing a loaf of bread with a tiny note tucked next to it.

Edward gave the bread a sniff. “It’s banana bread.” He plucked out the note and read it over: _Thank you for returning what I lost. I dropped it between those boards years ago, and I thought I’d never see it again. I might not be able to give you more money, but I can spoil you with family recipes. -Donna_

Harley yanked the note from Edward’s hand, her eyes scanning over it. “Ooh, who is Donna, anyway? Is she some tall, gorgeous skirt you’ve been sneaking around with?” She was grinning at him, fanning herself sheepishly with the note.

“Hardly. She’s an older woman with a family.” Edward said, taking the note back from her. “And before you try to turn that into a bad joke, I helped her on a case.”

Harley gave the bread a quick look-over, then continued to grin at Edward as she moved around him. “Might not be _too_ bad for yer health then.” She placed her hat on and opened the front door, “Well, I’ll get outta yer hair, Ed. Try not to croak your doc!” 

That sentence didn’t sit right with Edward, but he hurried after her onto the landing, watching as she sauntered down the stairs. “Harley,” he called after her.

She stopped, turning back to him about halfway down the staircase. “Eds, I’m gonna paste ya if you want me to thank you again.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Edward asked.

She gave him a confused look. “Yeah, I guess. What?”

“If you hear about any fires in the slums, can you give me a tip?” Edward asked. The request seemed to catch Harley by surprise. She stared at him intently for a few moments. It was clear she was trying to figure out how that information could be helpful to him.

“Fires?” She asked, continuing to stare -- though, as he gave no further details, she gave up and simply nodded, “Ya got it. I hear anything, I’ll let ya know.”

“Thank you. Keep your nose clean.” Edward said, closing the door and moving back inside. He heard her mumble something under her breath as she made it the rest of the way down the stairs.

The rest of his morning was rather routine. He ate two slices of the banana bread and saved the rest in his icebox. He had to admit, Donna’s family recipe had hit the spot. For the first time in days, he felt more like himself. An empty stomach really does have awful side effects on the human brain. When he left the office that afternoon, he felt more prepared for the journey to his doctor’s appointment. Which was good, as it wasn't exactly a short trip. He suspected that whoever placed him in Lewin's care had thought it was a hilarious joke to send him to the one doctor all the way in Uptown. He had to take multiple trains to get there, and the commute always took longer than the appointment itself. Normally this bothered him, but today he felt grateful to get out and about. The rain had ebbed to a mere drizzle by the time he had gotten to the final station on his commute, making the rest of the walk to the university grounds rather pleasant. As he reached the building, he noticed a car across the street. The two men in hats within it watched him go inside. He didn’t recognize them, but he could assume it was Penguin’s boys. Oswald probably ordered them to check up on him, to make sure he was still alive after all the excitement last night. He pushed them out of his mind as he took the steps up to the fourth floor and the short trip down the hall to Lewin’s office. 

As usual, he didn’t have to sit in the waiting room long. He assumed the staff was too nervous to have him sitting around in full view of anyone who entered. The secretary called his name before he could even get comfortable and had hurried him to see Lewin, who was jotting down notes in one of his files at his desk. Seeing Edward, he gave him a calm smile and asked him to take a seat on the couch. Edward hated that couch; despite his height, it always made him sit at eye level with Lewin. He presumed that was the goal, but he hated it, all the same. These sessions were already stressful enough. Taking off his coat and hat, he hung them on the coat rack by the door and made his way to the couch. 

After Dr. Lewin had seated himself in the chair across from him, the two exchanged the mundane pleasantries they typically did at the beginning of their sessions. Edward thought Lewin hated this as much as he did, but he knew it was part of the procedure to get him to start talking. In all honesty, he didn’t dislike Lewin as much as the other doctors he had dealt with through the years. The man wasn’t as pushy or quick to make assumptions, but he did have a tendency to dance around subjects rather than getting to the point -- never wanting to push Edward too far, but also laying down discussions to lead toward places Edward didn’t want them to go. He wasn’t sure if that made Lewin a good doctor or not; he just knew it was annoying. 

“So, how has your week been?” Lewin finally asked.

Edward let out a deep breath. “Exhausting.”

“That’s unfortunate. Why has it been exhausting?” 

“For starters, I have a leak in the walls of the office. And with all the rain lately, it's been making it harder to get a good night's sleep.” Edward said. “Other than that, it feels like everything is going wrong.”

“I see. What went wrong? Can you elaborate on that?” Lewin asked.

“It's just, everything. I finally got a client, but it was only for an hour of work. The case was easy enough, and she seems to be satisfied with the resolution. But it was tiresome...” Edward said, his voice trailing off by the end. He rubbed his palm against his knee as he spoke.

“I’m not sure what happened that made it tiresome, but it sounds like you did everything right. You provided a service, your client was satisfied, and you did an honest day’s work. Give yourself credit for that.” Lewin said.

Edward rolled his eyes, “Thanks doc.”

Lewin took the cue and set down his pen on his notepad to give Edward a more direct look. “Okay then, clearly you don’t want to waste time with the formalities. What would you like to talk about?”

Now that he was put on the spot, Edward felt his throat tighten, keeping him silent for some time. When he did speak, his voice was lower. “I had to pass the island. I had to go to a scene for the case with my client, and I had to pass by it to get there.”

Lewin stared at him, taken off-guard by the confession. “I see. That must have been… stressful. Were you able to do your exercises to keep yourself calm?”

“I keep telling you, they don’t work,” Edward said in a huff.

Lewin’s lips thinned, and he relaxed more in his chair. “And I keep telling you I can only work with what you tell me. The less you tell me, the less information I have to come up with a plan to help you. I’m not saying that to upset you, Edward,” Lewin said, seeing the quick glare he received, “I’m just asking to see if they did, or did not, assist you. Since you’d like to talk, go ahead. It’ll only help us to think of techniques that could assist you better.”

Edward took another long pause before speaking again. “It was -- I didn’t feel anything.”

“Did you have one of your moments, where you start to remember what happened?”

“I keep telling you: it's not just _remembering_ , they’re not just memories. I can’t control them. It feels different than when you remember your first Christmas, or something like that.” Edward said, gesturing with his hand as he spoke. He noticed Lewin staring at him, and let out a huff, “Yes. The memories came back, okay?”

“And yet, you say you felt nothing?” Lewin asked, attempting to clarify.

“When I looked at the island I didn’t feel anything. I thought it’d get really bad, that I might have a complete freak out right there on the street. But, nothing happened.” Edward could feel his pulse rising, his breath quickening. He couldn’t understand why thinking of the island was more frightening than actually being there. He was starting to get confused again, his memories and emotions were getting cloudy, and he could feel his frustration rising. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Edward, we should explore this more --” 

“I went to meet with the Penguin.” Edward cut him off.

Lewin stared at him again. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Edward could tell he’d switched the direction of the conversation, but Lewin didn’t want to hand over the control. Eventually, Lewin let out a low groan. “Alright. I’d like for you to think back to how you felt when you were near the island. Think about how you can better explain it to me, and we can talk about it in our next session.” He adjusted himself in the chair, picked his pen back up, and gave Edward a tentative look, “Why did you go see the Penguin?”

“He invited me.” Edward said bluntly.

“And you accepted the invitation?” Lewin asked, Edward could see the disappointment looming in his eyes.

“Well, I say _invited,_ but when Oswald invites you it's normally not an optional request. If you don’t accept, something unfortunate usually happens.” Edward replied.

“I see,” Lewin jotted down a few notes on his notepad, “Why did he extend an invitation for you to meet with him?”

“He just wanted to speak with me, it was nothing criminal.” Edward began but then waved his hand dismissively. “Okay, no. That’s not true. An acquaintance of mine was in trouble, but I had no idea that was the case when I went to meet with him.” The admission tumbled out of his mouth; he found it surprising it was that easy to say. Perhaps he did need to let go more.

“I see, thank you for telling me the truth. Is this acquaintance in good health?” Lewin asked. Edward could hear the worry in that question.

“Yes, they’re fine.” Edward tapped his foot on the ground nervously; a tightness had begun in his chest. _Just spit it out,_ his mind stewed. “Oswald owed me a favor. From back -- well, you know when. So it's good and bad. The acquaintance is fine, but now Oswald and I are even. He has no reason to extend any courtesy to me in the future.”

“Why would being _even_ with Oswald be bad for you, Edward? Wouldn’t having any ties to him be bad for your rehabilitation?” Lewin asked, tapping his pen against his notepad.

“Look, doc, that’s not how any of this works. I get what you’re insinuating, but Oswald was, he was taking away my ace, he was weakening my hand.” Edward said.

“How does that make you feel?” Lewin asked.

“Nervous.”

“Why nervous?”

“I don’t know what he’s planning. I’m not sure why he made the play, but he’s getting ready to make some type of move.” Edward’s eyes narrowed as his mind began to fall down the rabbit hole of Oswald’s intentions yet again. 

Lewin merely sat, watching Edward closely as he became lost in his thoughts. Eventually, he leaned forward and said Edward’s name softly, drawing him back to the conversation. “Edward, may I have your attention again?” He watched Edward for a moment more, until he saw his attention was brought back to their discussion. Leaning back into his chair, he rested his pen on the side of his mouth. “Might I ask, how often does that happen to you during your day? You’ve done it many times here before, but this is a more high-stress situation.”

Edward stared at him, perplexed. “Do what, exactly?”

“Get lost in thought. You kind of check out of the conversation, from time to time.”

“Oh, that. All the time.” Edward said, with another dismissive flick of his hand.

“Were you attempting to figure out what Penguin’s _play_ will be?” Lewin asked, returning his pen to the notepad, prepared to write down Edward’s answer.

“No, I was --” Edward groaned, “Yes, I’ve been trying to predict what he’s planning ever since I got the phone call.”

“You said you were nervous. Do you think it's possible it might be because you’re worried you might relapse into your ‘ _unproductive behavior_ ,’ as you call it?”

Edward contemplated that question for a moment. “I don’t think so. I think it's given me more incentive to stay away.”

Lewin nodded, returning to his notepad and scribbling down a few quick additions. “Good. You appear to be more willing to be honest with me this session, Edward. That’s good progress.” The praise grated on Edward’s nerves, but he tried to keep his temper under control. Their sessions never amounted to much when he closed down communication. As Lewin finished his notes, he adjusted in his chair again. “Are you nervous because you think he might come after you? Well, let me rephrase that question, if I may. You do not have to tell me the details Edward, but I would like to ask, does he have a reason to come after you?”

Edward stared at him. Lewin was taking control of the discussion again, leading him in a direction he didn’t want to explore. Edward began weighing the consequences of telling him the truth. For the first time in his life, he would be breaking the code, and the mere thought of that made him repulsed. Yet, Lewin was right. If he wanted all of this to stop, he’d have to start telling him the truth. He knew Lewin legally couldn’t tell anyone, so there wasn’t much worry about him telling any of the authorities. However, he knew that legality and ethics meant very little when someone had a gun pointed at their head to get them to talk. It was a conundrum, for sure. 

“Yes.” Edward said slowly. The admission felt wrong to him. He watched as Lewin rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair, clearly unprepared for it as well.

“I know you’re going to get mad at me for saying this, but I do have a reason.” Edward hurriedly added.

“What would you like to say, Edward?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Edward expected Lewin to get frustrated with him, but the doctor merely nodded in response.

“Alright, if you think that’s best. I will not push you to speak about it if you’re not prepared to. We can discuss that subject at another time.”

“Thank you,” Edward said, feeling relieved. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together as he looked to the floor. “I want to discuss something else. You asked me if meeting with Oswald would cause me to relapse. The answer is still no, but there's something else, and I think it might go into that.” Edward took a deep breath. He knew he wasn’t ready to talk about this subject, but he wasn’t sure he could go another week with it mulling around in his mind unaddressed. “When I was at the scene for my client, Robin was there.”

Lewin’s eyes widened, staring at him attentively. “I see… well, you did say you thought they’d be following you or maybe keeping an eye on you. Did he… harm you? Threaten you?” Lewin finally broke off the stare and let out an exasperated sigh. “I apologize, Edward. I’m not quite sure what that group of vigilantes’ methods are. All I know is what is reported in the papers and the news. Perhaps you can explain it to me, what about this encounter bothered you?”

Moments like this were when Edward felt himself shutting down. He found it to be such a waste of time to have to explain the complexities of the culture in the underground to the ordinary individual. He knew Lewin couldn’t understand the Bat’s methods or what his presence would mean for Edward. To the typical citizen he was a phantom, a tall tale. He didn’t want to have to explain it all. It’d take so much time to do so, and he wanted his question answered. Lewin must have seen this on his face, somehow, as he suddenly spoke up again.

“How about this: what did Robin do, or say, when you two crossed paths with each other?”

“He -- he confirmed that my speculations were correct. They are watching me and following me, as rude as that is.”

“You voiced those concerns to me before, what about that fact bothers you?”

“I just -- I don’t want to see him.”

“Robin?”

“No, not him. I don’t care about him. Batman, I don’t want to see Batman. I don’t want to have any interaction with him.”

“Yes, we’ve gone over that. I agree, and I don’t believe he should have any reason to interact with you if you’re not engaging in any illegal activities.”

Edward let out a deep groan, “No, you don’t get what I’m saying. I’m not scared of Batman hunting me down and beating me to a bloody pulp. I’m not scared of him watching me, I’m not doing anything so he’s just wasting his time. I don’t want to _see_ him. I’m scared of what I might do if I did.”

“I see. Was Batman there? You only said Robin was there.”

“No, he wasn’t there, but normally Robin isn’t off running around on his own.”

“So you thought you might have to interact with him when you saw Robin at the scene?”

Edward leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms in front of him, giving Lewin a curt nod. 

“Is that when you came to this realization that you didn’t want to have any interaction with Batman? This fear of what might happen if you two met again?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I think, when I think about him, I get confused. I get angry, and I feel, raw. Like an open wound, exposed, weak, or something. And --” Edward paused; the right word was on the tip of his tongue, but he felt that saying it out loud meant he’d have to admit it to himself. “I feel sad.”

Lewin stared at him. Edward desperately wanted him to say something, anything at all. “I see. It sounds like there are a lot of unresolved issues there.” Lewin rested his hands in his lap, on top of his notebook. “Do you think that you might feel a sense of sadness because there are those unresolved issues, and now you’re starting a different direction in your life?”

Edward looked to him, his breathing quickening. “What do you mean?”

“Well, from what you’re describing, it sounds like there are a lot of negative feelings. I’m assuming those have some basis in the events that have happened in your relationship with him, leaving them unresolved since you’re now cutting ties with your criminal life. That, perhaps, leaving those issues unresolved forever is what is causing you to feel sad.”

Edward was staring directly into Lewin’s eyes now. He was completely bewildered at how the man had been able to take all of his confusion and explain it so simply, and so accurately to boot. “I think -- yes, I think that might be some of it.”

“Then, is it safe to say you worry that your inability to let go of those issues might cause you to relapse into your previous behavior?”

“Yeah,” Edward said with a deep sigh. He hated feeling this vulnerable.

“Did you have these same emotions when you were interacting with Robin?” Lewin asked as he jotted down a few more notes.

“What? No!” Edward said, surprised by the insinuation, and he let out a light chuckle. “No, absolutely not.”

“Why is that funny, Edward?”

“He’s just some kid. He’s some teenager running around in a circus outfit with a stick. I mean, he can hit pretty hard if he gets the chance, but he’s nothing compared to Batman.” Edward uncrossed his arms as he thought over his interaction with Robin, knowing that wasn’t going to be a satisfactory answer for Lewin. A grin crept across his face, “He’s not as bad as the other two. But, really I just played with his mind and left it be. That’s all.”

Hearing no response, Edward looked back over to Lewin, who was staring at him with a puzzled expression. “I’m sorry, the ‘other two?’”

“Oh, there have been two other -- y’know what, nevermind. It's not really that important.”

Lewin cocked a brow at his dismissal of the subject but shrugged. “Alright. Well, tell me about your discussion with Robin.”

Bewildered, Edward chuckled again. “Why?” 

“It doesn’t appear to have been as stressful on you as the other events of the week. I’m curious to see why that is, and we’ve tackled some serious subjects so far. I think it might do you some good to talk about something less intense.”

“Alright, I guess.” Edward was still perplexed as to why his discussion with Robin should even be a subject this session, but Lewin had been right so far and it was easier to discuss. 

“You said you played with his mind?”

“Yes, it sounds more devious than it was. He was under the assumption that I had gone to the scene for some nefarious criminal reasons. They don’t believe I’ve stopped, you see. I don’t think they’ll ever believe me. I found it quite fun to prove him wrong on that assumption.”

“You enjoyed proving to him that you were there to do your job. Is there a particular reason why you enjoyed that?”

“It's because they’re all so convinced they’re always right. It's disgustingly pompous, it was fun to be able to turn that attitude onto him.” 

Edward noticed Lewin jotting down a few notes. He found the action odd, since he hadn’t said anything revolutionary or provocative in that statement. 

“When you proved to Robin that you were there for respectable reasons, what was his reaction?”

“Oh, I’m not sure if he believed me. He’s not very smart, but he’s not entirely gullible either. But I did make him think twice about the events of the case, and I’m pretty sure I influenced him to take a closer look at the scene. He’s the damn detective, but he missed all the suspicious evidence and facts that didn’t match up with the police investigation. It was amusing to see the realization on his face --”

“Edward. I’m sorry, police investigation?” Lewin asked hurriedly, leaning forward toward him as he inquired.

Edward stopped, seeing the worry on Lewin’s face, and realized how bad that must have sounded coming from him. He began to recall the case to the doctor in an attempt to quell his concern. He began by explaining his meeting with Donna: her suspicions about the apartment fire, how she'd wanted someone with a keener eye to take a look at the scene. He continued to reminisce about what he'd found at the scene and his conclusions concerning the firemen's incompetence. Now that he'd started, he found it difficult to stop.

Eventually he reached the conversation with Robin, and he elaborated on how he'd tricked the vigilante into taking a closer look at the case in his stead. Finishing by saying that he'd done much more than what he was hired for. He began to ramble, the events still rooted in his mind, talking about the other fires across the city. He had begun discussing his theories about what could be causing it and who the possible culprit could be when, abruptly, Lewin held up a hand for him to stop.

The doctor hadn't interrupted or asked any questions the entire time, and Edward could see that he was a bit overwhelmed by the flurry of information. Lewin looked over to the clock on the wall, prompting Edward to do the same. Their time was close to ending. He hadn’t realized he’d talked for so long. Lewin took a deep breath and adjusted in his seat again, still holding out his hand to Edward as he spoke. “Unfortunately our time is up, but I would like to tell you a few of my observations from today’s session before we conclude. There are a few subjects I’d like to discuss, and I request that you try not to interrupt, since our time is so short.”

Edward leaned back into the couch, calming himself as he nodded.

“Edward, I’d like for you to take this into account for the next week. Watch your behavior, and see if this holds true from your perspective. We can discuss it in our next session.” Lewin looked down at the notes on his notepad as he continued, “Edward, it appears to me that you purposefully engage with people who treat you negatively. Hold on --” Lewin said, extending his hand a bit more as Edward tried to protest the observation. “It's just what I’ve observed, it doesn’t mean it's true. But, from your interactions with me and others -- compared to your recollection of your interaction with Robin -- it sounds like you became much more immersed in your communications with him, excitable even. It sounds like you enjoyed the encounter with him, and you rarely discuss such interactions with others while you’re here. I’d like for you to watch for this in the next week, should the situation arise.”

Edward was dumbfounded; every part of him wanted to correct the doctor, to prove him wrong. But his mind was going over the events again, and it found that it might be possible the doctor was correct. He mustered a nod, causing Lewin to relax before he continued.

“The next subject I’d like to touch on, is that of Batman,” Lewin looked back down to his notes. “I agree with you, I think your assessment of that situation is correct. If you fear you could relapse, I would strongly suggest you have no interaction with him. If he pursues you, you should take appropriate actions to keep him away. Call the police if you have to, but do not engage with him. Walk away.”

Edward could feel his hand beginning to shake. He rubbed it against his pants in an attempt to get it to stop, and nodded to Lewin. “Okay.”

“Lastly, I know you expressed a feeling that still documenting the fires was pointless, but I don’t think that is true. In all of our sessions, I have never seen you as engaged in a discussion as when you were describing this case. I think that continuing this investigation might be good for you.”

“Good for me?” Edward couldn’t keep it in any longer, “How is traveling around the city, investigating a bunch of fires that have nothing to do with me, and not getting paid for it ‘ _good for me_?’”

“It’s better than staying at home and getting drunk, Edward.” Lewin finally tucked his pen away into his vest pocket, indicating the session had now ended. “As long as you’re not getting yourself into trouble, I think it could help with a lot of the feelings you’ve expressed that put you in distress. Your feelings of anxiousness, the rapid uncontrollable thoughts, and the sensation of not belonging. I think keeping that brain of yours busy with something you find interesting and doing something more productive with your time will help ease those feelings.” Lewin moved to stand, tucking his notebook under his arm as he looked down at Edward. “Also, you being out and about and being more productive might attract the attention of more clients. Which will certainly help you in the long run.”

Edward didn’t bother to argue the point any further. Lewin had said his piece, and he was free to have that perception, even if it was wrong. Lewin confirmed Edward’s next appointment, instructed him to call should any situation become too extreme for him to handle, and the two shook hands before Edward left the office. As he made his way down the hall to the stairs Edward mulled over what had been said in the session, playing it over again in his mind. 

He’d stepped out onto the sidewalk feeling drained, and then a wave of emotion hit him all at once. It was those sensations again, the ones that snuck up on him periodically. He felt out of place, like he was a piece of something that didn’t fit right, that he didn’t fit in anywhere at all. A car speeding through a puddle in the road pulled his attention back to the street, and he spotted the car where the two men sat. They were still watching him. He stared at them, waiting to see if he would feel something else, anything else, but nothing changed. He pulled his hat down farther over his face and turned to head back to the station. As he walked, he saw the car with the men drive past and disappear down a side street.

By the time he’d gotten on the train, he was beginning to get frustrated again. Through all the years, all of his doctors had told him that he needed to open up and that he needed to be honest. Lewin had even praised him for doing so, but it hadn’t made him feel better. He didn’t feel as hectic as he had all week, but, now, he felt weak and vulnerable. He clasped onto the railing above him, staring out the window as the train traveled out of the tunnel and over the glum overcast island. He watched the buildings pan by, vaguely listening to the chatter of the other citizens in the car before shuddering as the sound of thunder rumbled over the city. 

He felt like he was going to crack, but even if he did, he didn’t have anywhere else to go. It wasn’t like before, when he could up and leave whenever the need struck him. He was stuck, and it felt like there was no way out. Even when he was following everyone’s instructions on how to fix his situation, nothing was improving. The idea of returning to his office made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to go back there; he just knew that there would be more bad news when he arrived. His eyes wandered over the slums in the distance, watching the rain begin to pour down from the heavy clouds above. Roaming around the city to think was starting to sound like a better option than returning home. Even if he would get soaked during his wanderings. 

The distant sound of a siren blared and he looked down to the street lingering below. It was lunch time, and people were hurrying about during their breaks. _Look at them. They all have somewhere to be, somewhere to go. And you’re going to go home, and shut out the world._ Edward shut his eyes tight, but that did nothing to quiet the thoughts. Then a police car sped by, and then another. He frowned and turned his gaze back out onto the city. He checked the skies to see if any of the police airships were joining in on the action, but then he saw a tower of smoke rising from the streets not too far from the train’s bridge. Another siren blared -- a fire engine this time. He could hear them screaming through the streets as they all converged in the direction of the smoke. 

The other passengers took note of the noise and the haze in the sky. Some began clamoring to the windows, talking to each other about the potential tragedy. They had seen enough damage done to their city now, and he could hear the fear in their voices. He stared at the dark cloud of smoke; he watched as it fumed, growing in size and becoming a dark stain on the horizon. He knew exactly where that fire was: it was near the Bowery. The slums were on fire again, another building engulfed in flames. The conductor announced the next stop over the scratchy intercom, and he took a deep breath. 

His first instinct was to simply close his eyes and ignore the fires, but he found himself turning around as the doors opened. Lewin’s advice rang in his head, fighting the cacophony of his thoughts. Edward clenched his jaw and took a step toward the platform. Brain be damned, he wasn’t going to let this mystery go unsolved. It was time to stop hiding and start facing this whole thing head-on.

He took a deep breath, making his decision, and exited the train.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another building is burning in the slums, and now there are too many of them for it to be a coincidence. Edward begins a more thorough examination of the scene, and this time, the puzzle begins to become a fascination as well as a much-needed distraction.

**Episode 6**

_ Alarm _

* * *

As his feet sloshed through the rainwater on the sidewalk, Edward continued to ask himself why he’d gotten off the train, even though he knew it wasn't a clear decision when he’d done it. Maybe Dr. Lewin was right. He didn’t want to stay at his office the rest of the day and he didn't feel like checking the paper with the grim hope of finding another client; this might be good for him. He felt like he was in a daze as he wandered closer to the location of the newest fire, watching as police and firemen rushed by in their vehicles. He wondered if, this time, the building was inhabited. There seemed to be a lot of fuss. A few blocks ahead of him, he saw the police had blocked off the streets leading to the scene, prompting him to head down one of the side streets. Moving through the alleys, he found himself staring at a giant plume of black smoke. The flaming building was being doused with water from the fire hoses as the firemen tried to get the inferno under control. Exiting the alleyway, he found himself in a crowd of people, all shifting about trying to get a better look. He used them as cover while he observed the scene. 

The area was crawling with first responders, though he didn’t see any body bags or hear any screaming from the building.  _ Must be abandoned as well,  _ he thought, right as he saw an easy opening through the wooden police barricades. He slipped through it and maneuvered between the lined-up patrol cars to get a closer look at the building. He stayed at a safe enough distance to keep out of everyone’s way. The fire had reached the top floors, and the empty buildings on either side were so shrouded in smoke, he couldn’t tell if they’d caught fire as well. Over the bustling and shouting of orders, he suddenly heard a familiar voice yell “Oh, for fucks sake!” and he looked in its direction. 

Barreling toward him was Edward’s favorite detective of the GCPD, Harvey Bullock, and a tall, young cop hurrying behind him. Bullock looked enraged -- as if he could shoot Edward dead right where he stood. He looked older and tired; but to Edward’s surprise, much more put-together than before. The bags under his eyes weren’t as noticeable, his shirt was ironed, and he was sporting what looked like a new suit. Perfect fruit to pick at if Edward got the chance, and a grin crossed his face at the thought. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Nigma?” Bullock demanded, walking right up to Edward, who instinctively took a step backward.

“It's nice to see you too, Harvey,” Edward said slyly. “I could ask you the same question. I wasn’t aware one of Gordon’s golden boys would be at the scene of an abandoned building fire. Don’t you all have more important things to do with your time?”

Bullock wasn’t in the mood for Edward’s games. He reached out and yanked Edward toward him by his coat lapel, glaring into his eyes. “Listen, you twisted freak, you’ve got two minutes to get your ass outta here or --”

“Or what? You’ll arrest me?” Edward interrupted, now refusing to back down. He loomed over Bullock and saw the tiniest hint of apprehension in the man’s eyes.

“Damn right I will, you’ll spend the rest of your week in a cell at headquarters.” 

“Arrested for what crime, exactly? What charge are you going to sign your name to, detective?”

“I don’t need one for the likes’a you. I could make up anything, and anyone would believe it. Maybe yer returning to the scene of your crime, is that it, Nigma?”

“Ahh, fabricating charges. Isn’t that what got you in so much trouble the first time you tested me?” Edward grinned down to him, and he saw anger brim over on Bullock’s face. A fist came flying toward his head; Edward was ready to move to the side to avoid it, but then an arm grabbed Bullock’s and held.

“Detective Bullock, stop!” It was the young cop. He moved between the two, keeping his firm hold on Bullock’s arm. “Just calm down, man!”

Bullock jerked his arm away, almost taking the younger to the ground as he did. Glaring between the two, he gave the younger a stern look, his breathing brisk with rage. “Listen, Wilkes, you don’t know this freak. You don’t know what he’s done. Just get outta the way, this doesn’t concern you.”

Wilkes narrowed his eyes, clearly getting agitated. “It doesn’t matter what he’s done, he isn’t doing anything right now! You can’t just punch him in front of all of these people!”

Bullock’s glare intensified, though he appeared unable to combat that observation. Then, he turned away from them and marched away in a huff; his warning gaze shifted to Edward as he went. 

Wilkes took a deep breath to calm his nerves and turned to Edward, “I’m sorry about that. Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine, kid. Thanks for the intervention, but it wasn’t necessary.” Edward raised his voice, “He hits like a girl.” He looked to Bullock, still storming away, and was happy to see him flip Edward an obscene gesture over his shoulder. “That’s a lie, by the way,” Edward looked back to Wilkes, a cheeky grin on his face. “I’ve been punched by plenty of women in my life, all of whom hit much harder than him.” 

Wilkes, clearly, didn’t find the joke to be very humorous. He gave Edward a disheartened frown in response, though Edward chose to ignore it. He turned on his heel and began to continue to survey the perimeter of the scene. He heard Wilkes call after him -- he hollered something about leaving for his safety -- but Edward simply waved away the instruction as he wandered off.

Even though he wouldn’t admit it, Edward was thankful to officer Wilkes for stepping in. He’d been punched by Bullock plenty of times before. It was a rough hit to take, and one he didn’t feel like nursing for the rest of the day. He stepped over the fire hoses that snaked across the street as he prowled into one of the alleys between the neighboring buildings. He headed toward the back and peeked inside the windows as he passed by. They were definitely abandoned. 

This part of the city was one of the areas hit the hardest by the chaos -- all thanks to Black Mask’s stranglehold on the Bowery, which left most of it still desolate in the wake of the crisis. Reaching the back of the block, Edward saw multiple firemen hurrying about. The water from their hoses fell to the ground and mixed with the heavy rain; it made the area look like a flood had just hit. Staring at the sloshing water, Edward began to slow his breathing like Lewin had suggested, preparing himself to step out into the ankle-deep water. He waded into the flooded alley, and felt the cold water bathe his feet. But the breathing exercise didn’t work. Images flashed in his mind, then memories of the Narrows quickly began to surface. He hurried across the alley in a few long, and loud, strides. He pressed his back against the brick wall beside him, tilted his head back, and attempted to calm his breathing once again. 

He tried to focus on the sounds of the firemen nearby, but all his brain wanted to concentrate on was the sound of the rain, the footsteps splattering through the water. His pulse was rising again, his hands began to shake, he felt like he was going to vomit. He weakly turned down the alley, moving as quickly as he could away from the sounds. Finally, he reached a point where the sounds of the street drowned out the more frightening ones. He heard a woman’s voice close by and fixated on it in desperation. She was talking to someone about some argument she’d had, sounded like a coworker from the way she was describing it. Then the woman was too far away and all he could hear was the distant sound of honking cars, the shouting of commands from the first responders. 

His leg began to hurt. The deep, searing ache was clouding his mind, making it more difficult to focus on any distraction. He pressed his back against the wall again and moved his weight to his other leg in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain. He tried to focus on his breathing, but even when he closed his eyes to drown out the world, the memories kept coming: 

He was rounding a corner at a run, then there was a flash of steel. He barely caught a glimpse of it before his side screamed in pain.   
He stumbled headfirst into a barricade, the raw flesh of his hands scraping painfully against the cement.   
He was falling toward the river, knowing his body would shatter against the jagged rocks below.   
He heard a voice calling his name in the distance, then he heard the crunching of bones. Warm blood splattered his hands.   
The voice called his name again. He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder, and his mind was jerked back to the alley -- his eyes shot open, and he saw the familiar face of Jim Gordon staring at him in alarm. As his senses returned, he heard loud, strained breathing; he was perplexed at first as to its origin, until he realized it was his own. Swallowing hard to wet his dry throat, he pulled himself off the wall, only to lose a bit of his footing. He felt Jim’s hand steady him, “Whoa, whoa, maybe you shouldn’t move.” Oddly enough, the gravelly voice was bringing him back to reality. Now he could feel the cold, wet brick under his hand as he steadied himself, and he could feel his soaked clothes weighing him down. 

“Are you alright?” he heard Jim ask, and Edward gave him an incredulous look.

“Oh, yeah,” Edward said through his breaths, his voice scratchy. “I’m perfectly fine, Jim. This is -- just what I do -- in my free time.”

Jim rolled his eyes, and sighed. “I’m glad your sarcasm applies to every situation, Edward.”

“Ask a stupid question,” Edward breathed, but Jim didn’t appear to be paying attention. He was staring down the alley to the flooded one up ahead, watching as the water from the fire hoses crept its way down the alley to where they stood. He looked up at the rain, watching it drench the buildings around them, then his gaze turned back to Edward. He pointed to Edward’s hand that was still shaking at his side. “Bad memories, huh?”

“What?” Edward asked, his breathing still shaky. Edward locked eyes with him, fear running through him as he contemplated how Jim could have figured that out.

“I go through this with the officers sometimes.” Jim replied, then motioned toward the storm above them.

Edward looked up to the rain, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah, not my favorite type of weather.”

Jim chuckled, “I bet it isn’t. Just try not to fall down, I don’t wanna have to pick you up.”

Edward pushed himself off the wall, making sure he was steady on his feet, and rested his hands on his hips while he tried to catch his breath. “You put all of that together -- pretty quick, Jim. Not too shabby in the detecting department.”

Jim grinned in response, “Not too hard to figure out, Nigma. Think you’re okay now?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Edward lied.

“Good. Now you can get out of here.” Jim gave him a forbidding look, but Edward quickly shook his head.

“No way, I’m staying right here.” He swiftly moved his hands into his coat pockets, attempting to not look as frail as he felt.

Jim simply shrugged. “You wanna stay in a flooded alley all by yourself, be my guest. Just stay away from the scene, you already got enough people riled up.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Edward shuddered in the chilly rain. “All I did was look around, I wasn’t even close enough to be in any type of danger.”

“And you antagonized Bullock, Wilkes told me all about it.”

“Snitch,” Edward mumbled under his breath. He watched as Jim walked away without another word, and rounded the corner behind him that led back to the street. Edward hurried after him, “Wait,” he said, as he stepped in front of Gordon, stopping him in his tracks.“Okay, I’ll leave. I promise I’ll leave if you just answer a couple of questions.”

“About the scene?” Jim asked, sounding almost accosted. “I’m not telling  _ you _ a damn thing, Nigma.”

“I just want to know what the cause was. That’s all.” Edward was holding his arms out, trying his best to appear non-threatening.

“I’m not telling you a damn thing.” Jim reiterated, before moving around Edward to continue back to the scene.

“What could be the harm in telling me the cause of a fire that destroyed an empty building? You all are just going to brush it under the rug like you always do. It's going to be in the evening paper anyway!” Edward shouted after him; he saw Jim noticing the stares they were starting to receive from the onlookers.

Jim quickly made his way back to him, glaring, and lowered his voice. “You want some information? Fine -- how about:  _ it wasn’t empty. _ I’m sure that’ll be in the evening paper. Now go home, Nigma.” And with those final words, the conversation was over. Edward watched as Jim walked off, and his eyes shifted back to the building, considering the dark smoke spreading across the sky. 

Edward had intended to return home, but he found himself deviating on his route and heading to the location of the other fire on the island. The one he’d read about in the paper a few days ago was only one train route away -- and, considering he was already on the island, he decided it was worth the effort to at least check it out. The long walk there helped to calm his frazzled nerves, and by the time he’d gotten to the building, his memories had ceased their attack. 

Unfortunately, the building held neither answers nor evidence, but he spoke to a few transients who provided some useful witness accounts. They said that there had been little foot traffic near the location, until a few days before the fire. They’d assumed the people who had shown up were supposed to be there: the building’s owner, perhaps, trying to sell the property to potential buyers. That could be a logical explanation for the sudden increase of visitors, but something wasn’t sitting right with Edward. He remembered what Donna had said, her feeling that something was wrong despite the evidence to the contrary. He wondered if it might be smart to go speak to her -- maybe if they discussed the matter again, he could find some missing piece to the puzzle. 

However, on his train ride back to the south island, his stomach began to growl loudly. He decided it was probably best to head back to the office and grab a bite to eat before he continued on this wild goose chase. By the time he’d gotten to his block, the hunger pains had increased. He could feel a headache threatening to creep in if he didn’t get something in his stomach. Getting to his building, he trudged up the steps; his leg was still throbbing, and his muscles were getting weak. Halfway up the steps he heard a loud ringing coming from his office and mustered up the energy to quicken his pace and get inside. He hurried to the desk, then, remembering his sleepy battle over the phone with Harley that morning, he dove to the floor. Jerking the handset up, he rambled off his typical greeting and shifted on the ground to get more comfortable.

“There he is! Damn Eds, I called ya all afternoon! Where’ve ya been?” It was Harley and he could hear the twinge of annoyance in her tone.

“I got caught up with something after my doctor’s appointment. Why? What’s going on?” Edward propped the handset against his shoulder and began to remove his soaked shoes.

“Ask me to do you a favor, and then yer not around to take my calls.” Harley said in a mocking voice. “There was a fire in the Bowery, heard some folks are dead.”

Edward flipped one of his shoes off. “I know about that one, did you hear anything else? Like how many people were in the building? Or how it started?”

He heard Harley sigh on the other end. “No, just that they think someone might’ve started it by accident.” 

Edward pulled off his other shoe and tossed it where the other had landed by the door, “Alright, thanks for the tip. I’ve got to get out of these wet clothes now. If you hear anything else --”

“Did ya hear about the one near Tricorner?” Harley cut him off.

Edward paused in the middle of taking off his socks. “There was another fire near Tricorner?”

“Uh-huh. Don’t think anyone died though. It got real bad, think it burned up the store next to it.” Harley’s voice was cocky; he could tell she was enjoying being the one with all the information.

Edward yanked off his socks and tossed them near the bathroom door. He grabbed the phone off the floor as he shuffled over to his desk. “Do you remember the cross streets?”

“Think it was over by Garner and 36th.” Harley said, and Edward jotted down the streets onto his notepad. “Now, whaddya say to good ol’ Miss Quinn?”

Edward rolled his eyes, tossing his pen back to the desk. “Thank you very much.”

“Ha! Yer welcome!” Then he heard the line go dead. 

Setting the phone back onto the desktop, he shuffled to the bathroom to change into a set of dry clothes. He grabbed the bread loaf from the icebox and cut off two large pieces, placing them on the only plate he owned before returning to the main room. Kneeling behind the desk, he gathered up the pile of old newspapers Harley had chucked at him the night before and sat down on the floor with his meal as he began to flip through them. 

He skimmed over the papers as he ate, looking for even the smallest mention of a fire in the past few weeks. On one page he found a story about a chemical fire under one of the roads; that didn’t seem to fit, but he pulled the page out and set it on the desk. He found another article about a small mill fire down by the harbor, and he pulled the page out to place it next to the other. Finishing up his bread slices, he set the plate down and flipped through all the remaining papers, coming up empty-handed. He tossed the stack back over by the couch where it had originated, and he rested his chin in his palm as he began to think. 

It wasn’t making sense, none of it was adding up. If all of these fires were happening during the dry season he was sure no one -- not even himself -- would’ve even noticed the peculiar similarities. It almost felt like whoever was doing it was begging for someone to notice -- if it was a single individual, that is. The immediate worry was that it was someone who enjoyed watching the fire destroy the buildings. Maybe they were choosing abandoned buildings to ensure no one died in the fires, to lessen their crime to property damage rather than murder -- but that theory wasn’t fitting well with the other evidence. He doubted someone with those compulsions would spend so much time trying to make it look like an accident just so they could watch a building blaze. 

It was too thought-out, and, now, with the new fire in the Bowery, they had victims. But it could’ve been an oversight. Maybe the victims were vagrants and the suspect didn’t know they were there. Thought that still didn’t make it fit; perhaps the buildings had some kind of connection. Maybe the fires were some sort of revenge, intended for one person to see the connections and perceive the attack as a threat. It could be some kind of protest -- stranger things have happened in this city. Though that wouldn’t make sense, since they were all over the city -- seemingly with no connection -- and with an attempt to cover up any evidence of intent. Edward ran the addresses he knew of through his mind, trying to see if there was some code. It’d be just his luck that he’d stumbled across a new super-criminal, trying to link their crimes together through some theme, but he couldn’t find any possible message within the numbers he had.

As he stared at the wall across from him, he noticed the streetlights outside his window were on. He hadn’t realized he’d been sitting in the dark for so long. Edward leaned forward on the floor, lit a cigarette, and rested his elbows on his knees as he exhaled the drag. He watched the smoke tendrils float up to the dark ceiling, his mind noting a strange creak on the floor below. It sounded like the fire escape for his downstairs neighbor, but Edward wasn’t too sure; he hadn’t gotten used to all of the sounds of the building just yet.

Sometimes, the elderly woman on the first floor would rustle around in her kitchen early in the morning, and the sounds made Edward think someone was trying to break in.  If that was the case, he wouldn't have been concerned; a typical robber, just some kid wanting to steal the nothing that he owned, he could handle that. But with his reputation, he was usually worried about something more nefarious every time he heard her cook. He closed his eyes and took another drag; the throbbing in his leg intensified for a moment, before subsiding once again into a dull annoyance. He listened as an ambulance rode by in the distance and slowly opened his eyes again. They stung while they refocused on the ceiling above him. 

Then there was another creak, this time much closer. This one he recognized: it was in his tiny kitchenette. He listened closely; there was the slightest sound of fabric brushing on wood. He reached over and pulled his coat to him, sliding the switchblade out of the pocket. But the room had gone silent again. He looked to the doorway behind him, the one that led into the kitchen area, and set his cigarette into the ashtray. He stood as quietly as he could on his throbbing leg and peeked through the entryway. He scanned what he could see of the room from his position, but nothing out of the ordinary met his eye. He strained his hearing. The silence was becoming unnerving. Suddenly, a door from the bar downstairs opened into the alley, and low jazz began to fill the night air. It was odd -- he knew he’d heard something.

Then, someone in red sauntered into view from the counter area. Edward jumped at the sudden movement, instinctively flicking open his knife. As his eyes focused on the person in front of him, Edward grimaced, watching as Robin looked around the tiny office with a bland expression. 

“Small place,” Robin said, his tone mockingly calm.

Edward closed his knife and stuffed it into his pants pocket. “You know, I do have a front door, and a phone. They’re much easier than the fire escape.” 

Robin pointed to the pocket where he’d stuffed the knife. “I wasn’t aware you were allowed to have weapons. Thought it was a specific condition of your release  _ not _ to.” 

“Come and take it from me then,” Edward said in an annoyed huff. 

Robin shrugged, “I’m not too worried about it, you might need it with those guys down there watching your place.” Edward frowned, his eyes darting to the window as Robin continued. “Thought it’d be smarter to sneak in, I don’t think they’d be too happy with you if they saw me knocking on your door.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Edward sneered. “Well, since I’ve already grown tired of this game of snide comments, you can exit the way you entered.” He reached behind him and grabbed the plate off his desk, then he walked past Robin to the kitchenette. 

Robin leaned against the entryway, watching him set the plate in the sink. “Okay, fine. No more snarky comments. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about that building fire you investigated.” 

Edward frowned at that and turned to the boy with a fist on his hip, attempting to hide the throbbing pain in his leg. “I know you’re young, but let me explain something to you. I legally can’t talk about cases, and I’m not putting my job on the line to help the likes of you.” 

“I don’t want to ask you about anything concerning your client. It’s about your conclusions in the case.” Robin crossed his arms, looking over the state Edward was in.

“Oh, so you want to use my genius brain for your benefit? I thought you all think of my brain as some dangerous weapon. But now that it suits you, you want to hear what my observations were?” 

Robin’s eyes widened, and he gave him another quick look-over. “Man, you must've had a rough day.”

“I have. And I don't feel like assisting you with anything. Get out.” Edward stepped around the boy as he made his way to his desk, but Robin followed him. “Are you stupid? Or just hard of hearing? Get out!” Edward said, turning back to face him.

Robin was looking around his office, no doubt searching for any possible clues he could gather about the investigation. He noticed the papers on Edward’s desk, which he snatched up and began looking over. 

“You all really think this kind of behavior is acceptable, don’t you? Just walking into people’s homes, going through their things.” Edward snatched the papers back from him; he’d hoped the violent motion would unnerve the boy, but he didn’t even flinch.

“I thought you were ‘only paid to look at the scene.’ At least, that’s what you said that night. Sure looks like you’re putting in more than that now.” 

“Is English your second language? Do I need to start saying this in every language I know?  _ Get out _ !” Edward loomed over the kid, but Robin simply groaned in response, taking a step backward to keep some distance between them.

“All I’m saying is, you’re clearly still investigating the fires. I know you know about the one over in the Bowery this afternoon, people saw you at the scene. You’ve noticed something, I know you have. I just want to know what your speculations are.”

Edward took a deep breath and slowly let it out through his nose. “I’m not telling you a damn thing.” He suddenly remembered Jim saying the same to him, and he felt his temper rise even more. “Where’s your  _ dad _ anyway? Shouldn’t he be helping you with this? Why are you showing up here like a lost puppy asking for help?”

Robin tilted his head back, and Edward was sure he’d rolled his eyes despite not being able to see them. “He’s  _ not _ my dad, and he’s already working on it. You know, I don’t understand you. You were so keen to talk to me about it the other night. You practically forced it on me, and now you’re --”

“I was in a good mood the other night, now I’m not. Here’s another life lesson for you, things change as time passes. Now fly away, little Robin,” Edward waved his hand in Robin’s face, using the other to toss the newspapers to the couch.

“That was you in a  _ good  _ mood?” Robin asked as he threw up his hands, clearly giving up. “Fine, I thought you were taking this seriously, but apparently not.” 

“Finally, you’re getting the reality of the situation. Now, get --”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” Robin said, and he turned back toward the kitchen area. Edward watched as he silently opened the window that led to the fire escape, filling the room with the soft jazz echoing in the back alley. He snuck out into the night without another word, leaving the window open behind him. Edward cursed him under his breath and was about to hurry over to close it, but he stopped. Something about the encounter wasn’t sitting right with him. Even though he was doing what Lewin had said -- keeping them away from him -- it just felt unsatisfactory somehow.  _ Lewin might be right,  _ his thoughts chimed in.  _ This is exactly like he said. You engage better with people who treat you poorly -- even with people you hate.  _ Edward let out a loud groan and slammed the window shut. 

Unsure of what to do next, he stood there for quite a while, staring at nothing in particular. The day had been so confusing, such a roller coaster ride of events and emotions. He was having trouble sorting through them all, and he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with the rest of his evening. He was exhausted, hungry, and completely drained on any further introspection. But the idea of staying here in his tiny office and drinking the night away didn’t sound appealing in the slightest. His eyes wandered over to his coat and hat, still laying on the couch where he’d dropped them. The rain had all but moved on now, and it wasn’t very late. Someone would see him if he went out. He thought about officer Blue 334, imagined him mocking him for being caught out on the streets after his curfew. The idea was revolting. 

He began to fidget with his fingernails, and he chewed his lower lip. His eyes fixed on his cane by the front door.  _ If you go out, you could be risking everything. But, when have you ever been one to follow the rules? That’s not how you get things done in this city.  _

The chaos of the day was starting to feel like it had become background noise; he suddenly found he couldn’t care that much about it, and he didn’t feel like letting everything worm its way back into his head.  _ Maybe it’s time you start tweaking the rules, just a bit. It’s not like any of these doctors have ever been in your position, they don’t really have all the answers. Besides, it’s your job. The consequences can’t be all that bad.  _

All at once, he knew what he wanted to do. He grabbed his notebook off the desktop and tucked a couple of pens in his vest pocket. Picking up his coat and hat from the couch, he noticed they were still wet, but he threw them on anyway. He opened the front door and grabbed his cane, feeling its weight in his hand for a brief moment, then locked the door behind him as he left.


	7. Mid-Season Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward’s heavy drinking turns out to be of assistance for him for once, as his investigation into the fires intensifies. But now, it seems he’s caught the attention of someone involved.

**Episode 7**

_Chiropteran_

* * *

When Edward had decided he would go into the private detective business, he’d thought he’d be spending most of his time following around cheating spouses, compiling evidence of contractors purposefully botching their jobs, or even wasting his time finding some elderly woman’s cat. He hadn’t intended on getting involved in anything dangerous. He’d wanted to stay far away from danger as much as possible, but it was either this or being a tax consultant. He would’ve been good at that, too, but he knew it would be too tempting to revert back to his unproductive behavior if he had taken that route. Too easy to get stuck in some bored rut, too simple to look at all that money and see all the ways it could so quickly move into his own possession. So, the detective business it was, but it was just supposed to be a stepping stone. That’s what he’d told himself, it was just something to do to make money while he figured out a more stable, legitimate career. He’d decided he wouldn’t take on any risky cases, that he’d steer clear of any job that might muddy his name -- at least more than it already was. In a way, he had a clean slate, and he intended not to waste it. 

Then why was it that he was wandering the bars at night, talking to anyone who was willing to gab about anything they’d seen, anything they knew pertaining to the fires? He knew he shouldn’t be doing it, he knew it was dangerous and he could lose what little foundation he’d acquired. The smart thing would be to do everything by the book, to ensure he couldn’t be dragged into any of this. He knew there were plenty of people in this city who would enjoy nothing more than to find a way to pin this on him, or at least use it as an excuse to send him back to the asylum. A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have minded that much, but, now, he’d put in too much effort to just have it all go up in smoke before his eyes. 

However, this case had begun to dwell in his mind, and he knew this was the smartest way to get some answers to his questions. It wasn’t completely unfamiliar territory for him. As he walked the streets that evening, he found himself a tad nostalgic. Wandering the dirty streets of the slums on an empty stomach was how he’d spent most of his adolescence. And he had also spent it pulling cons to make some quick cash. This evening wasn’t too different from those days. He’d been jumping from bar to bar in the areas around the fires, catching the workers as they relaxed for the evening. At first, people were reluctant to talk to him. A bartender had virtually thrown him out for daring to show his face in his establishment. But as the drinks continued to flow throughout the late hours, people began to loosen up. 

Edward had had to pull out some of his oldest skills tonight, ones that he had too much practice in. Someone had told him once that he could convince a fat-cat that he was richer than him. Granted, the man that’d said it had probably never met a rich man in his life, though Edward knew what he meant. He had a particular skill for manipulation, a method of mimicking others’ personalities. Not in a literal sense, but in a way that showed him exactly how to act to gain their approval, or to manipulate their reactions to suit his benefit. Over the years, he’d had plenty of practice with this skill-set, and it came in particularly handy tonight. He’d spent the last hour talking with a group of women who worked at the docks. They were part of the loading crews, and they had a bird’s-eye view of the building that caught fire near Garner Street. The women said they’d seen some men near the building before the fire had started, but it didn’t sound like there was anything out of the ordinary about their appearance. The women were rather brash with him at first, but eventually became quite jovial. They’d grilled him with questions about being a super criminal: why he had quit, if he’d actually quit. They found his satirical answers quite amusing, and, before he headed out, they demanded he have a drink with them, which turned into two before he insisted on going home. 

As he stepped out onto the dark sidewalk outside the bar, he leaned on his cane to steady himself and checked his watch. He grimaced seeing how late it was; he’d wanted to stop by the more local bar for the workers at Tricorner, but by now everyone was likely too plastered to have a decent conversation. He pulled out his notebook and began flipping through the pages with his thumb. He’d filled almost all of it, mostly with what he assumed were useless rumors, but there weren't enough pages left to interview another bar full of people. That cemented his decision to return to his office, and he turned on his keel to head down the sidewalk. 

The walk wasn’t too strenuous. He only had to take a few secret shortcuts through the neighborhoods as he made his way back to his district. As he walked, a chilly breeze began to pick up. Autumn had finally arrived, and he pulled up his coat collar to shield his neck from the cold. He made a mental note to check the local secondhand shops for a decent pair of gloves and a scarf. With how awful the hurricane season had been, he was certain the winter was going to be a frigid one, and he didn’t want to get caught off guard when the temperatures plummeted. As he got to the front door of his office, he took a quick look down the street and noticed it was empty of any vehicles. Oswald must have called off his men for the night -- that was at least a small relief. He made his way up the stairs, unlocked his door, and hurried inside his dark office. Taking off his coat and hat, he hung them by the door above his cane and began to loosen his tie when the phone began to ring. 

Swiftly he answered it flipping the handset up to his face as he pulled off his tie, “Enigma Investigations, this is Nigma.” He had expected to hear Harley’s annoying voice on the other line -- she was the only one he could think of who would be up this late -- but all he heard on the other end was silence. Edward frowned and pressed the handset harder to his ear in order to hear better: there was the faintest sound of background noise. The muffled sound of a creaking door came across the line, then there was a distant voice he couldn’t make out, and a small breath. 

“Hello?” he said into the phone, and then the line went dead as the other person hung up. Edward pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it confused, before putting it back on the receiver. His eyes scanned the street below, unsure what to make of the phone call, but the streets below remained vacant. 

He turned to throw his tie to the couch when, suddenly, a shadow moved in the moonlight that cloaked his office. He saw it stretch and shift across his work desk, and he instinctively hunched down behind the scuffed piece of furniture, his eyes darting to the rooftop across from his window. It took a moment for his vision to adjust, but then he saw it, just barely visible in the moonlight. On the rooftop, there was a dark shadow. It blended in with the chairs and junk that were piled up by the tenants of the building, but it was difficult to completely make out its form. He could see broad shoulders, a head with two pointed ears, and tiny eyes staring at him from the dark. His back straightened as he stood, his eyes widening in surprise as they desperately tried to make out the form in the dim light. He turned on his desk lamp, bathing the building next door in low light, but, now, the shadow had vanished. 

He leaned forward over the desktop, his eyes scanning the roof for the shadow, watching for even the slightest bit of movement. But there was no movement, and no shadow. He began to wonder if he’d been seeing things in the dark. After a few moments he felt his tense muscles begin to relax. If there had been something there, it appeared to have moved on. He leaned back from the desk and began taking off his suit jacket, his eyes still fixed on the cluttered roof. By the time he’d removed his vest and his shoes, he had finally stopped looking, and the activities of the night caught up with him. 

He shuffled into the bathroom and washed the rainwater out of his hair; it had started to irritate his skin. He then made his way over to the couch and flopped onto it, his muscles thankful for the soft embrace of the cushions. His eyes darted to the roof one final time before his mind began to wander into thought. His last coherent thought was of the bread in the icebox, and he battled with the decision to either eat some more or save it for later before he finally drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning was uneventful, especially considering the last few days. The coffee from the shop was fresh this morning, and he’d spent his early hours tearing out the articles that addressed the fires from the day before. Apparently the people that died in the fire in the Bowery were three vagrants; they must have started using the building as shelter during the rainy week. The fire investigators were under the assumption that they might have started the fire themselves. Perhaps to keep themselves warm or to cook a meal, and it quickly got out of their control. _Reasonable theory_ , Edward thought, _but the homeless of Gotham tend to be much more wise to their environment than that_. He placed all of the clippings into his desk drawer to reference later, lit a cigarette, and ate a couple of pieces of bread to calm his angry stomach. He was about to head to the bathroom to wash up when the phone rang. He answered it excitedly and prattled off his normal greeting.

The line was silent for a moment, but Edward could hear people bustling around on the other end. Then came a rather mousy male voice: “This is the detective, right?”

“Yes, might I ask who this is?”

“Matchinski, Emil Matchinski. Deb gave me your number, said I should call ya.” He sounded nervous.

“Ah, yes. I spoke with her last night. I hope she was able to get to work on time. I was a little worried after her sloppy exit from the bar last night.” Edward paid close attention to Emil’s next words, hoping the small talk would loosen him up.

There was a very weak chuckle. “She’s havin’ a rough morning, but she’ll be alright.”

“That’s good, try to convince her to stay away from the wine.” Edward took a deep drag from his snipe, then flicked some ashes to ashtray.

“I’ll tell her you said so,” Emil went silent for a moment, then continued. “Look, I appreciate you wanting to talk to me concerning yer investigation, but I think I’m just gonna try to save what I can outta the shop. I don’t think I wanna get involved.”

“That’s understandable, Mr. Matchinski. If I may though, just a few moments of your time? Just to ask you a couple of questions, and then you’ll never hear from me again.” Edward flipped open his new notepad, hovering his pen over the page.

There was another long pause. “I’m not sure. This just doesn’t... seem right. I appreciate the offer though.”

“Mr. Matchinski, if you have any reservations about disclosing any information to me, I want you to know you have nothing to worry about. Anything you tell me, I won’t repeat to anyone.”

There was a sigh, and Emil sounded irritated. “Really? You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“If not that, then what, Mr. Matchinski?” Edward had a feeling of where this was going.

“You -- c’mon, you know who you are. What you’ve done. I don’t want to get involved.” Then the line went dead. 

Edward set the handset back and took a long drag from his cigarette as he contemplated what to do. He knew this situation would arise eventually, but Matchinski didn’t sound like the aggressive type; he might be able to convince him to talk to him. Snuffing out his cigarette, he grabbed his belongings as he left the office, and, even though he didn’t need it, he grabbed his cane. Perhaps the visual would help calm the man’s nerves. 

He made the trek to Matchinski’s shop, and stood on the sidewalk across the street to get a good view of it in the daylight. The building that Harley had told him about was right next door, and it was severely damaged. It looked like most of the destruction was on the ground floor, toward the front of the building: right where Matchinski’s shop was. He wondered if there had been some type of accelerant for the fire to spread so rapidly. He’d heard from the onlookers last night that it was pure pandemonium here when the fire had broken out, and many in the area were quite upset about the destruction of the shop. Deb had said that Matchinski was a good man. She’d said she would convince him to talk to Edward, but clearly that hadn’t worked. 

Walking across the street, he leaned on his cane as he looked around the interior of the shop; the floor and walls were almost completely black from the fire damage, but he noticed someone had a lantern propped up on one of the aisle shelves in the back. He tapped his cane on the door frame and was surprised when he saw a young woman strutting over to him, a large grin on her face.

“He’s in there. Thought he was supposed ta call ya? You always make in-person visits with these investigations of yours?” It was Deb, looking much less eccentric than she was when they’d met the night before. 

“Good morning to you too, hope your hangover isn’t too bad,” Edward said with a gentle tilt of his hat, getting a simple shrug from Deb in response. “He did call me, and he hung up on me.”

Deb rolled her eyes dramatically, “Honestly, Emil.” She took a few steps toward Edward to knock on the window frame, hollering his name. “I’m sorry about him, he can be rather nervous.”

“It's fine, I’m used to it. Happens to me all the time.” Edward gave a gentle shrug, causing Deb to grin in response.

“I’m sure ya do.” She banged on the window frame again, louder this time, before stepping through the gaping hole where the window had once been. “C’mon, he’s back there somewhere.”

Following her lead, Edward climbed through. She offered to help him and he thanked her, though declined. Using his cane to steady himself in the dim light, he hopped down into the damaged shop and took a quick look around. It was a rather large shop for the slums, and from the remaining goods on the shelves he could see there was more variety than usual -- it looked like Emil had really poured his pride into it. Following Deb deeper into the shop, they headed toward where the lantern was flickering when, suddenly, a man came out from the back room. He was carrying a large crate, and when he saw the two his eyes instantly fixated on Edward with a look of surprise. 

Deb sighed as she made her way over to help with the crate. “Emil, this is Edward. You should talk to him.”

Emil tore his gaze away from Edward and looked Deb in the eyes. “Why did you let him in here?”

“He just wants to ask you some questions, that’s all. He’s not that scary, honestly, Emil. He works pretty fast, he’ll be outta yer hair in a minute.” Deb hoisted the crate onto one of the counters and began going through it. 

Emil looked back to Edward, and all Edward could see in his eyes was anger. He held up his hands, “Mr. Matchinski, I just want to ask you one question. That’s all, and then I’ll leave --”

“I don’t want to talk to you, at all. Leave, same way ya came in,” Emil’s tone had changed completely from when they’d talked on the phone. Perhaps Edward was wrong in his assumption that the man wasn’t aggressive; there certainly was something very dangerous about his tone now.

Deb’s eyes widened, giving Emil a shocked look. “Emil, what the hell? He’s just trying to help --”

“No he’s not. None of them ever --” Emil stopped himself, his eyes scanning the ground as he tried to calm himself. 

“Them?” Edward asked. His voice sounded much colder than he’d intended, but his mind had begun to race upon hearing that unfinished sentence. 

Deb’s expression had shifted: she looked fearful, but, for once, that wasn’t directed toward Edward. She was staring at Emil, looking almost betrayed. Emil took a deep breath and looked Edward in the eye again. “Yeah, you. You know what you are, you super-criminals -- or whatever they call you. You can’t do everything you’ve done to this city, then expect folks to just forget it -- just because you want us to.” 

“I wasn’t aware I was trying to get people to forget, Mr. Matchinski,” but Edward’s voice seemed to tip Emil over the edge.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” Emil shouted, “You shouldn’t even be here! How many of you all got wiped out? And you got spared? You, of all people, survived. After everything you’ve done, you weren’t targeted?!” Emil’s voice was shaking, like he was afraid of the words that were coming out of his mouth, but Edward could tell he meant them. He meant every last word of it. 

Deb hurried between the two of them, backing toward Edward, “Emil, shut your gab this minute!”

“You know it's the truth, Debbie! Don’t tell me yer not thinking the same thing.” Emil let out a frustrated wheeze, but Deb was shaking her head to show her disagreement.

Edward felt his temper rising, he could feel the muscles in his hand wanting to shake, but he gripped the cane tightly to quell them. His eyes were fixed on Emil’s, even though the store owner had looked away by now. Deb had turned to him, apologizing most likely, but Edward didn’t care what she had to say. At that moment, he decided that he didn’t feel like allowing Emil to persecute him. He refused to give the fanatic the satisfaction. Slowly, he advanced toward Emil, who recoiled as the distance between them closed. Edward leaned in, looming over him, his eyes still fixed on Emil’s as Deb hurried to his side. “He didn’t mean it! I’m sure he didn’t mean --”

“I just want to know one thing; did you see two men around your building yesterday before the fire.” It came out more as a statement than a question. Edward’s voice was cold, and stern. 

Emil recoiled more, but attempted to hold his ground, “I already told you --

“Because other people saw two men here yesterday, slinking around in the side alley. Did you see them.” Edward’s tone was more demanding as he stared Emil down.

“I, they said -- they were just contractors for the landlord. They were surveying --”

“Is that what they said? Or is that what you assumed?”

“It's what the landlord said, said they’d be coming by a few days ago.” Emil tried to take a step backward, fear rampant on his face.

Edward stood up to his full height and nodded to Emil before turning and heading back to the front of the shop. He could hear Deb saying something hushed to her neighbor as he climbed over the broken glass to exit through the window panel, and then he heard her following after him. Stepping onto the sidewalk, Edward pulled out his notepad and jotted down a few notes. 

Deb climbed down next to him, her breath quickening. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t -- I didn’t know he was a sympathizer. If I knew, I wouldn’t have --”

Edward held up a hand to calm her, hoping to stop the needless apologies. “It's alright, I believe you.” 

Deb wiped the dirt from her hands onto her skirt. “I truly am sorry.” 

Edward could hear the sincerity in her voice, though he wasn’t quite sure why she was so regretful. She took a few deep breaths before forcing a weary smile. “Hey, how about I make it up to you? Next time yer in the area, how about I give you a free meal at the cart?”

Edward paused his notetaking. He wanted nothing more than to get out of there -- it felt as if this whole area was now unsafe. However, the idea of an actual meal made his stomach growl in hunger. He turned to Deb, a look of frustration and desperation on his face, “Actually, could I take you up on that offer now?” Deb chuckled through her frazzled nerves and motioned for him to follow her back to her vending cart. She attempted to lighten the mood as they walked, telling him some joke she’d read in one of the papers that morning. Edward tried to play along, even though he was sure it wasn’t very convincing. His mind was still back in the shop with Emil, but he didn’t want to give her any reason to retract the offer. Getting to her cart, Edward nodded to her older sister, who responded in kind. 

Deb pulled a warm frankfurter out of the boiling pot and tossed it onto a bun. “We’ve got onions today, you want some?”

“I’ll take as many vegetables as you’ll give me,” Edward responded, which caused both women to giggle. 

Deb piled some onions and a few peppers onto his frankfurter before handing it over to him. Dogs weren’t his favorite, but, at that moment, it smelled delicious. So much so that he could almost feel his mouth watering as the aroma of the meat and peppers hit his nose. Deb leaned toward him over the cart, a mischievous grin on her face. She lowered her voice, presumably so that her sister wouldn’t hear, “Offer still stands, next one is on the house too.”

Edward stared at her, then forced a smile. “That’s very kind of you Debbie, and I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary. I’m never coming back here again.” With that, he tipped his hat to her, noticing her sad smile as he walked away down the sidewalk. 

That evening, Edward sat on the couch, looking over the news clippings again and comparing them to the notes in his notepads. His assistance check had come in, so he’d spent most of the day traveling to the bank in Midtown to have it cashed. He’d stopped by the liquor store, nabbed some cheap produce from the street vendors, and grabbed the evening paper on his way home, which turned up an interesting development. There’d been another fire, though this one was caught early. The blaze wasn’t very fierce, and the firemen were able to put it out with minimal damage to the building. He’d decided this was his best bet to gather some more compelling evidence. If this fire was connected to the others, the lack of destruction should turn up some interesting clues. After that discovery, he’d spent the evening hours eating the rest of the banana bread and refreshing his memory on the notes he’d taken the night before at the bars. 

Many of the people he’d talked to wanted to reminisce about the fire itself, which had been a complete waste of his time, but many others had some interesting observations. One of the men who was laying down tar on a nearby roof said he smelled something burning, but it was much earlier than when the fire had started. A few witnesses had said they’d seen men at the buildings, though the descriptions varied at each location and some were even noticed a week before the actual fire. Edward had to admit it was an odd connection, but there was no way to say they were the culprits, and if they were, that made for an even stranger development. He wished he could access the leasing records for the buildings to see if there was some connection between all the locations. But from what he’d gathered, they were all owned by different people, and that appeared to be a dead end.

Edward looked at his watch; it was almost late enough for him to head out. No matter how odd it sounded in his mind, he wished it was raining. It’d be nice to have the cover of a storm like he did the first night. He was going to have to travel back to Midtown, making it likely he’d be spotted. But he didn’t want to risk losing his chance at getting his hands on any potential evidence. He stood, ambled over to the windows to close the shutters, and checked the street below for Penguin’s men. The street was empty of cars again, which struck Edward as odd, but someone caught his eye. Standing by one of the storefronts was a woman. She was wearing a coat and hat, most of her shrouded in darkness. She was facing the direction of his building with her hands resting in her coat pockets, and as Edward watched her, he noticed she barely moved. Edward shuttered the blinds, then did the same with the other windows in his office, supposing that, if she was a danger, he would find out soon enough. He was growing quite tired of these shadowy threats.

Grabbing his belongings, he filled his flask with whiskey and tucked it into his inside coat pocket. He locked the office door and headed down the stairs, and the chilly night air crept across his skin as he stepped out onto the street. He began to walk in the direction of the underground station, and he scanned his surroundings. The storefront where the woman stood was now vacant, causing Edward to look over the rest of the street, but he couldn’t see any movement besides a cat sneaking along one of the fences. Perhaps she had been there for a completely logical reason, but, even though he couldn’t quite place why, she had seemed familiar. His mind began trying to deduce why that was as he walked, but by the time he’d gotten down into the station, he’d settled on the conclusion that it wasn't important enough to keep thinking about..

Once again, the trains weren’t running in the West Side, though it wasn’t of much concern to him. Edward had a completely different route in mind, one that he’d used during his criminal career. Making it down onto the platform, he checked to make sure he was alone before hopping down onto the tracks. As he roamed into the dark tunnel, he listened for the distant sound of the trains, but it was silent aside from the rats. He’d walked quite a ways before he began to run his hand along the concrete wall beside him; he grinned in the dark when his hand hit a door frame. Finding the doorknob, he pushed the heavy door open with his shoulder and descended the stairs into the dark. 

It only took him about half an hour to get to Midtown, and he ascended the stairs onto a small landing by the large canal that ran through the island. He pulled himself up the stone wall, grabbing hold of the safety railing that ran along the street, and hoisted himself to the top side. He looked around to gather his bearings and took note of the time before heading off in the direction of the new fire scene. The streets were mostly empty, which seemed quite odd, though he had to admit he hadn’t spent much time here after he’d been released. It was normally very busy, even into the night-time hours. Perhaps that was another change he’d have to get used to. As he got closer to the scene, he could barely see any signs of the destruction that had rocked the rest of the slums; the buildings here looked to be in much better condition. He wasn’t sure how much of the year’s events had affected the middle island, but it didn’t look to be too devastated. Finally he spotted the address he was looking for: smack in the middle of a slum near the winding shopping districts. 

This building didn’t look like it had been vacant for very long. It reminded him of Donna’s old residence, since it appeared to be well taken care of, despite its location. It also didn’t look like there’d been a fire at all, though he was sure the interior told a much different story. He walked along the outside of the building, checking the doors as he passed. Of course, they were all locked. When he made it to the side alley, he noticed a small supply closet window was still open, probably to help the floors air out the smell of smoke. It wasn’t an entry, but at least Edward could get a look inside if he could reach it. He pulled the flashlight out of his pocket and placed it in his mouth as he took five long strides backwards. Hunching down, his arms out at his sides, he sprang into a run toward the building wall. Leaping up, his shoes caught on the brick, and he kicked himself up to grab a hold of the window ledge. 

He pulled himself up, nestling his shoulders in the small window frame, and he plucked the flashlight from his mouth. He scanned the room with the torch, and the remnants of the fire were very apparent. The stone floor of the supply room was black with char and the smell of fire was still quite strong. He pulled himself into the window a bit more, trying to get a better look down the small hallway to his left, and he noticed what looked like a cut wire snaking around the corner. His eyes narrowed, and he pulled himself in farther through the window to get a better look. In the alley outside, he heard what sounded like footsteps; he decided to ignore it for now, craning his neck to get a better look at the wiring on the floor. He couldn’t see much in the light from his flashlight, but he spotted that the back door had been left unlocked, and a smile crossed his face.

He heard footsteps again, this time closer. Edward decided that if he didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening in jail he should stop engaging in such suspicious activity. Shimmying back out of the window frame, he dangled down from the ledge and dropped back to the cobblestones below. He wiped his hands on his pants and, looking up, he noticed a man walking in his direction down the alley. Edward decided it might be best to move on for the time being; he could wait for the area to clear before checking the back door. 

He turned to head in the opposite direction but noticed another man at the other end of the alley. The second man was motionless, watching him. But the moment that he saw Edward take note of his presence, he began to make his way down the alley. This wasn’t good. The footsteps behind him were getting closer, and he nonchalantly moved into the narrow back alley across from him. Perhaps he could lose them in the spider web of cramped pathways between the buildings. He followed the alley to its end, where it connected with a larger loading alley -- there was another man waiting for him. Edward stopped to stare at him, but the third man didn't move. He could hear the other two getting closer, closing in down the alley behind him. 

He made a break for it, bolting across the loading alley to the next alley across from him. He could tell the men had given chase; he could hear their shoes on the stone below their feet. Edward quickened his run. Maneuvering through the labyrinth of tight walkways, Edward darted around rubbish bins and piles of trash. But he could hear them gaining on him. Rounding a corner, he found his path blocked by a chain-link fence, and, again, Edward sprinted faster. He leapt at the fence, grabbing the upper railing, and hoisted himself over to the other side. As he landed his leg screamed in pain, but he attempted to fight through it, continuing down the alley as quickly as he could. 

He’d hoped the fence would slow the men down, and even though he could hear them struggling to get over it, he heard feet land on the stone and give chase again. Edward could feel his body getting tired and the chilly air was making his throat hurt. He’d have to lose them fast. Darting around another corner, Edward spotted a wrought iron gate left ajar. Grabbing it with both hands, he spun, and slammed it into the face of the man behind him. There was a loud crunching noise, and blood splattered the stone below them. The man stumbled backward as he covered his face with his hand. 

There was a loud crack in the air, and Edward jerked himself sideways through the gateway. There was another loud crack; they were shooting at him. The realization gave Edward a swift second wind as he dashed down the alley. He rounded a few more corners, the pathways were getting darker the further they went between the buildings. But it didn’t seem to phase the men, he could still hear them closing in. Whirling around another corner, Edward found himself running through a long, narrow alley. He remembered what Oswald had said about the funnel. He cursed through his rapid breathing, and he put every last bit of energy he had into his run. Then, many things happened all at once: he heard one of the men stop, the other two fanned out to his sides, and then came the loud sound of a fourth pair of steps ahead of him. 

Edward attempted to stop himself, but the speed of his run forced him into a swift jog, and the fourth man became more visible in the dim light as he approached. Broad shoulders, two pointed ears, a long black cape draping around him like bat wings, and two white eyes staring at him from the dark. Edward’s mind shrieked a foul word, one he didn’t think he’d ever spoken out loud, and his eyes widened as the Bat hunched down and bolted into a run -- right for him. 

Edward jerked his arms in front of his face in desperation. “Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me!”

He heard the sound of a heavy foot slam into the wall beside him, then another above him, then again on the wall behind him. The alley filled with men’s screams, and, when Edward lowered his arms, he found the alley ahead of him empty. He turned around, but the scene was so chaotic it was difficult to make out what was happening. He could hear the sound of fists hitting meat. There was the sickening sound of crunching bones. A gunshot rang out, and was followed by a painful shriek. One of the men made a break toward Edward, elbowing him in the ribs as he pushed him out of his way in a hopeless attempt to escape. Edward slumped against the wall, and he saw a long black cord zip past him and coil around the escapee’s shoulders. The man struggled, pleaded, attempted to continue his escape, but a large gloved hand held the line taut. 

The Bat gave a strong jerk on the cord, dragging the screaming man back to him and ignoring his desperate pleads for mercy. Edward watched as the gloved hand grabbed the man’s shirt collar and flung him to the ground, the long black cape shielding the two from his view. Edward could hear that familiar growling voice; the Bat was questioning the entrapped man, or threatening him. There was more pointless pleading before the hitman spoke, loud enough for Edward to hear: “I dunno nothing! I swear! It was a paid job, I dunno nothing!” but it was cut off by a hard fist to the man’s face. Edward felt his legs finally give out, and he slid down the wall to rest on the ground, his rapid breath the only sound echoing through the narrow pathway. 

The large black shape slowly stood to his full impressive height and his gaze shifted down to Edward. His first instinct was to run, to flee the scene as quickly as he could. But their eyes were locked, and the two men stared at each other in silence. The stillness in the alley was growing unbearably uncomfortable; as if both men were waiting to see what the other would do next, neither one wanting to make the first move. Then, the Bat turned away. With a swift movement, he shot his grapple to the rooftops above and flew off into the darkness without a sound. 

Edward stared at the empty blackness above him, his mouth agape in disbelief, his heart racing so hard he felt like it would burst out of his chest. He stumbled up onto his shaky legs, his eyes still transfixed on the dark void. He felt a slight tinge of anger, and disappointment. Then, something hit the brim of his hat and a tiny tap rang out on the stone walkway, followed by a sudden drizzling of rain. Edward broke his gaze away from the sky and watched as the rain drops began to cover the alley. His feeling of disappointment rose with each drop. 

One of the men below him let out a pained groan, and Edward scanned the carnage the Bat had left in his wake. He let out a frustrated sigh and gestured toward the men on the ground before him. "Fine, I guess I'll clean this up all on my own then."

  
  



End file.
